Best Served Cold
by the-lionness
Summary: "A line, the last physical barrier she had tried to keep up between her and Ichigo had been crossed...six months from the day she had saved his life..." AU; Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series. Rated M
1. Chapter 1: The List

"_If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?"_

—_William Shakespeare_

* * *

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia AU Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 1: The List

* * *

The shower rail broke from its hold, taking itself, the slightly mildewed rubber-duck patterned shower curtain, and The Big Guy with it. The Big Guy, the naked giant with the body of a killer, had finally fallen under his fists.

Mr. Hollow didn't count the naked male body sprawled in the bathtub as an advantage to be proud of. It was more because of the cramped space of the bathroom and The Big Guy's own vulnerability and exhaustion than the steady helpings of punches and kicks he'd been force-fed by the intruder in his home. The bathroom in that tiny apartment wasn't made to handle two people, let alone two men—least of all two grown men fighting one another. Every one or two out of ten hits swung landed against either the white drywall, the wooden side of the bathroom sink cabinet, the trashcan filled with used Trojan condoms and wrappers, or once, the corner of the ornate, fake bronze mirror frame. Mr. Hollow knew that if The Big Guy hadn't tripped and fallen over the side of his own bathtub, the fight would have continued; he knew eventually, the violence he felt now in his own throbbing hands, in his sore shoulders, and his sorer ribs would have become more likely to bring him down.

But The Big Guy was on his last stand; his death was near, had heated the air in cramped space even before Mr. Hollow had walked in the tiny bathroom. He just hadn't realized how close it was.

And Mr. Hollow wasted no time in getting him there.

He lifted his foot and dug the heel of his hard-sole, leather shoe into The Big Guy's neck. The Big Guy's jaw clenched and his neck muscles stiffened and bulged to fight the pressure. His huge hand slapped at his leg to throw off his center of balance, but Mr. Hollow readjusted, falling to his knees and pushing forward, his forearm pressed against the skin now. He searched for a weapon, any weapon, and grabbed the broken shower rail and began to press the metal against the man's neck. The soles of his shoes scraped against the bathroom floor and he put weight into the struggle and pinned the giant down. The rod dug into The Big Guy's esophagus, closing the air to his lungs.

There came the sounds of choking and the mouth's raspy gasp for air. There were the beads of sweat popping against his red clay-colored skin, the clenched jaw. This _was_ The Big Guy's end. Any move from here would just delay his meeting with Death, that black-robed, crowned king bastard.

The Big Guy's big hand swung at Mr. Hollow, a last burst of violence against his attacker, punches that grew more frenzied and desperate.

…And more useless as his air continued to be cut off and the shock of his blows was absorbed by Mr. Hollow's mask, _the_ mask of a killer. Bone white except for the lines on the left side of the face, like bloodied claw marks. Teeth bared in a perpetual growl. The smile only a demon would wear when it was delivering death to the unsuspecting and arrogant.

The last smile a poor, dying bastard saw before the end.

The last punch felt like a butterfly's tap, and the sounds of the shower curtain rings clanging musically against the metal rod. The Big Guy's hands moved against the plastic prints of rubber ducks. His face went slack; his eyes rolled back. And with a jerk of the body, The Big Guy gave up the fight and met his end.

Mr. Hollow didn't move until he was aware of the smells that came with life leaving the world, piss and shit. And even then Mr. Hollow moved slowly, almost skeptical and mistrustful of the dead body's appearance. He stared down at him, the large man-child, no more than twenty-years-old in appearance with a mop of dark brown hair, wisps of fine hairs for a goatee, and now lifeless black eyes. Collateral damage, undeserving of the fate handed to him in spite of his one big mistake in the other room.

Underneath that mask, Mr. Hollow's forehead furrowed.

"…I'm sorry…"

The house was in relative silence once again. The rain that had been coming down off and on over the city of Texcoco de Mora, Mexico came down in torrents once more. Mr. Hollow became more aware of the sweat patched at his armpits and the small of his back. The fresh scents of outside rushed through the small bathroom window and filled his nose, pushing out the smell of emptied bowels.

Mr. Hollow stood, grabbed a bathroom towel and walked to the sink, letting the water seep into the soft cotton. Silently, he wiped down every surface in the tiny space twice and then threw the towel back in the sink bowl for the water to rush over it and further hide his presence.

He removed his mask, ignoring the image of a man with hazel eyes, spikey orange-red hair, and all the other features of his face in the cracked mirror.

He looked down at the names written on its inside with black Sharpie.

One name and one codename were already crossed out in red.

His hazel eyes passed over the name of the next dead man walking.

...And heard the muffled screams of that next person in the other room.

He put his mask back on. And then he straightened up his clothes, the formerly starched white dress shirt and yellow dress pants. It was the best he could do to dress for death given Mexico's sultry weather. And he patted the sheathed blade resting in his belt loop. Zangetsu, his former butcher knife of a sword.

He opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom with its worn, mismatched wooden furniture and yellow, sun-bleached walls. He could feel the cold air outside better in the room; it seeped through his mask's eye sockets. His footsteps sounded heavy against the hard wood floors, his gait a relaxed, steady staccato as he kicked away the clothing strewn about on the floor—the khakis, the bright red-and-yellow-flower printed shirt, the dress, light-blue lingerie, the pairs of Timberland brand boots and Prada wedge sandals—walked towards the two women on the bed.

The petite woman that stood as still and patiently as a monk with her back towards him. The one with skin the color of pale milk tea and shorn black hair. The one dressed in a billowy shirt of the American flag and cut-off shorts. The one with her red sneakers on, tracking mud on the plain, faded bedsheet. The one with a small scar on the side of her back and a golf club in her small, white-gloved hands.

The Red Rabbit.

And the other woman that was still lying naked on her back with bruises on her face and arms and legs bound in two thick leather belts and turquoise eyes as wide and round as dinner plates. The one subjected to the golf club being rubbed between her breasts, her skin that broken out in a sweat at his arrival and masked face. The gulps of air she took were whiny, desperate.

The Shark.

The Shark was a beautiful woman. She was somehow _still_ a beautiful woman, in spite of the bruises and welts on her cheek and underneath her eye, the discolored marks on her ribs, and her split bottom lip. She had the type of beauty that seemed to belong to women like The Goddess. Long-legged and hour-glass shaped, with a four-pack for a stomach and a pair of breasts that would have spilled out his hands. Her light-brown hair clung to caramel-colored skin; her juices dripped from the pinkness between her legs; she still smelled of sweat and the cheap cologne and dried cum of The Big Guy. Goosebumps rose on dark skin and light-brown nipples hardened. Even through everything, all that pain that had to be coursing through her body from The Red Rabbit's steady hand, she had the type of sensuality he had once been attracted to.

The Shark breathed in sharply at the cold feeling of iron on her skin and those tits of hers, like twin mountains, shook from the fear. The Shark's handcuffed wrists and ankles shook and clanged against the bars of the head and footboard, trying to will her formerly flawless body to move, to free itself from the restraints that had likely been used for pleasure before. The bedspring creaked erratically and her breasts shook and the balls of her feet dug into the sheets. Her voice, her groan of anger and pain, muffled from the sock stuffed in her mouth, pierced through the relative quiet.

The Red Rabbit drew in a deep breath and turned the handle of the golf club until its head was at a ninety-degree angle. With no preamble or warning, she slammed it flat against The Shark's chest.

His hazel eyes watched undisturbed as the bound and gagged woman coughed and choked, the heaving sound of her trying to reclaim her breath muffled.

A gust of wind blew into the room, swirling the pungent smells of sex in the air.

The Red Rabbit looked over her shoulder, her wide, amethyst-colored eyes looking into his, a cocky smirk on her lips. It was amazing how the sight of her always brought him peace.

Her body language, her eyes, asked a silent question.

He nodded minutely.

Grinning, The Red Rabbit twisted her torso slightly, her body poised as if ready to tee-off on a golf course. She put the golf iron against The Shark's temple, twisting it to make the nose tap rapidly against brown skin. "…I asked when we first walked in, but you didn't answer." Her voice dripped sweeter than sugar. "But I don't mind asking you again: Do you remember us?"

The Shark schooled her face to stone, to betray nothing. But in this situation, inexpression was the admittance of guilt.

"No?" The Rabbit cocked her head to the side in mock confusion. "I heard you talk about us a lot; how can you _not_ remember us?" She stared down the fiery glance of The Shark with a look of her own. "…Maybe it's because we look a lot different when we're not on our backs?

"…Well," and the petite woman's voice turned icy, "I remember you, _Espada._" She spat out the Spanish like it left a bad taste in her mouth._ "Tia Harribel, Killer of The Red Rabbit."_

A flash of recognition in those turquoise eyes at the sound of The Shark's name, her real name. And then Tia Harribel's demeanor cracked, her eyes shifting between the two of them over and over and over again.

With good reason.

"So, you're in a remembering mood now. Good, because _I_ remember that even with your so-called _mercy_ and _kindness_, you obviously weren't as hot shit as you thought you were."

_He could smell blood. Blood that belonged to him and blood that didn't, crimson-colored, metallic-smelling blood that ran under his nose, choking him, that made a body tremble and ache. He was caught in nothing but a state of pain._

_His mouth moved to say a name. Not his name._

_...From far off, he heard laughter, wild and gleeful and feral. Like a hyena. _

_Footsteps came near him. Talking, a voice that sounded like it was underwater in his ears, a voice that kept trying to pull him from unconsciousness. _

_And then he heard five gunshots. Felt spasms of the worst pain he had ever felt in his life in his arm, his left leg, his left hand. The one in his hand—it wasn't the worst wound that had been placed on his body, but for some reason, it hurt the most. _

_His lungs filled with smells of metal and cordite and his skin. _

_And the smell of more blood. _

_His eyes opened, searching for a face. And found himself staring back at a skeleton, black-robed and crowned with its empty eye sockets focused on him._

_Death. _

The flat side of the club smacked Tia Harribel's bruised face playfully. "Well, _we're _not going to be so merciful… There's already been enough mercy that's been given to The Espada. The Lion…The Snake…and The Buck have already been shown mercy. They don't have to die failing to avenge you."

At the sound of her subordinates' on The Rabbit's lips, Tia Harribel began to squirm once more, this time bringing her torso up trying to levitate herself off the bedspread. Her fingers curled to claw at The Rabbit's face. The Rabbit's body reacted like a sprung coil, striking The Shark with the club. Again...and again...and again, again. The dying woman's body slammed on the bed, new red and purple marks on the chest, head, cheek.

The Shark exhaled. Her chest heaved with new pain, choking, trying to calm down and filter air into her blood-clogged nose.

The Red Rabbit took in a deep breath herself and turned her head to stare at Mr. Hollow's masked face once more. His hazel eyes stared back at her with shared malice towards their enemies…and then he watched those violet eyes of hers stare at his left hand where the ban of gold around his left ring finger, its twin around her own left finger.

And where the puckered skin of the bullet wound was left in his palm.

The Red Rabbit looked at Tia Harribel again with eyes colder than a winter's day. "…But _you_. _You're_ going to be an example of our fury and our unkindness."

Thunder and lightening crackled in the sky outside like a laughing demon and the downpour increased. The rainwater dripped unto the opened windowsill, more cold wind blowing in the room.

"I want you to know that. From wherever in Hell you'll live, when I smash your face in with this golf club, when I turn you into The Swamp Thing, that will be our fury towards you. And when the police come in here and find your stinking, _fucked_ _up_ body, it will be the greatest unkindness we're capable of towards you.

"…And wherever the rest of The Espada try to hide, they'll remember you. And they'll know that there's no escaping."

She lifted the golf club once more, the head and hosel hovering above her head, before she swung it downward, Tia Harribel's face the bull's eye. Mr. Hollow could only feel the victory and satisfaction coursing its way through The Red Rabbit's body as the golf club struck new spots on Tia Harribel's face. Again and again and again and again, over the chin, the nose; her swinging motions more like hacking in their execution. The bruises bloomed in black and purple colors; blood tinged the sole. When it came down one last time, he swore he could hear the sound of her skull breaking from even where he stood.

It was the end of Tia Harribel, The Espada woman known as The Shark, the one with a body like The Goddess'. Even if she was alive, that beauty of hers was gone forever. There'd be no way she could breathe on her own, let alone act out on any grudges.

The dead body shook like the possessed, her ankle cuff rattling against the worn faux-gold rail and her bowels opened and streamed unto the sheets, the smell of her insides pungent in the cool, whipping air.

The Red Rabbit dropped the head of the golf club onto the floor where it landed with a thump. She stared at her work, the dead, misshapen body of their enemy, her breathing like that of a bull's, her mouth set in a straight line. "…I did this because you wronged me…" Her voice was like frozen ice in memory of another time, traces of emotion hard to find. "…I did this because I _am_ sadistic…and I did it because it's a means to your end."

Mr. Hollow walked towards her and took her hand in his grasp, the tiny hand enveloped in his larger one. She looked up at him. Her expression was a mix of several things: happiness and bad memories, her own personal Hell. There was no shaking, no hesitancy, no remorse.

He nodded, understanding.

He guided them towards their way out, the bedroom door hanging on its hinges from when he had kicked it open. They walked through the frame and past the opened bathroom door and The Big Guy's corpse inside. Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the narrow hallway, leaving the bedroom and its broken door that led to the threshold of death behind. Their shared glance was focused forward, their steps quick and light and smooth, careful not to bump into the furniture. They ignored the sound of a cockatrice's sudden mournful singing in the room.

The rain hadn't let up yet and the sound of it against the road greeted them like applause. The water felt like fingers of praise and adoration as it dripped down and soaked through their clothes, making it heavier to the touch.

Hand in hand, they walked towards their moped and got on. Her arms wrapped around his waist and her cheek pressed against his cold, wet back. Her body heat was like an ember burning through his clothes and unto his skin.

The tires left no clue to their departure as they peeled out the driveway and headed down the street.

* * *

In a hotel room far, far way from that apartment bedroom in Texcoco de Mora, Mr. Hollow was without his mask. He was a man again—a killer, yes, through and through. But he was now what had truly wanted to be: a man…a husband.

And The Red Rabbit was herself again. His wife, beautiful and sweet. The woman he had sworn to protect. The best thing to ever happen to him.

Their clothes, still wet from their travels and from their washing sat in a bag at the front of their hotel room door. It would have been better to burn them, but there was a beach and an ocean perfect for dumping their trash nearby; it would be enough to make any trails they had left behind stop cold in their tracks.

They were safe for now, mostly dry and naked underneath the blanket that came with their soft bed and the four walls of their hotel room.

Wife at his side, he took his mask and a red Sharpie from out his bag. He turned his mask over, away from the thick, curving red streaks in the front to where the names were written.

"Pantera

(Jaegerjaques Grimmjow)"

was already crossed out.

And with deft fingers, he opened the cap on the marker and crossed out

"The Shark

(Harribel Tia)"

as well.

Her hands traced over the red marker and rubbed against the ink. When some stained her fingers, she rubbed them together until they came off, the killer that she was unafraid of the color of blood on her fingertips. "…They have to know we're coming for them now. …They might have thought Pantera was a mistake, but they'll know The Shark wasn't either… No one's come for us. Yet."

His nose filled with the dizzying smell of the marker.

"It wouldn't matter if they did. We're not running away." He said. The pad of his thumb ran against the drying mark.

She watched as he placed the mask down on the nightstand and turned back to her. He leaned over to kiss her, slowly, with feeling. All the feeling he could give her. His hands moved under the puffy blanket and ran over her body, along her side and over the curve of her hip and down her pretty generous backside. He was counting the marks as always, the scars that would never go away, reminders of the one time he had fucked up, slipped up, and failed to protect her. He examined her like he was trying to learn the secrets of an ancient artifact. His hand ran over the worst gash of all, the deepest and largest mark. And he did what he always did to apologize for that mark: he began kissing and licking the keloid skin. He'd move his way up to her breasts and her lips and eventually, go below her waist. But now: that mark.

She gasped and drew in a sharp breath of pleasure.

He looked up at her, her flushed cheeks and darkening eyes. "…You don't want to stop this." It was a question, but he had a way of asking things that made it sound more like a statement. That familiar strand of black hair over her face bothered him and he moved it to stare at her fully.

Her tiny hand grabbed at his orange hair and yanked to make him face her eye to eye. "No. We're not stopping until it's finished…And I'll protect you and you'll protect me. Like you _always_ have."

He smirked.

Her own hands began to move over the mark of unnatural, puckered patches of skin on his arm. As always, his marks were smaller, but more undeniable to the touch. But he knew she loved them like she loved him. Like he loved her.

His name on her lips was like music. "…Let's forget now."

He knew what that meant. "…Okay."

He began to shift their bodies, laying her down on the bed once more, kissing her neck and grabbing at her right breast. The soft mound fit into his palm; the pad of his thumb and finger played with her pink nipple. Already she was parting her legs and burying her fingers in his hair. The fingers of his other hand dipped inside her core and began to slide in and out of her, making her wetter and hotter. His tongue lapped at her skin, the smell of her in his nose.

He made her body twist and move and sweat and yearn for him. And he couldn't speak for her, but when she moved her hand over his erection and began to grip and glide over the skin, he almost did. He almost did forget.

Almost.

* * *

_Thanks for reading this intro. I'm only too excited to be writing my second __Bleach__ fanfic with Ichigo and Rukia as the stars. They're my favorite couple in the entire series, and my writing this is inspired from Goku's Daughter on-going fanfic, "I love." If you are an IchiRuki fan, but haven't read it, do so. It's awesome!_

_I'll definitely be playing Rolodex with the characters to make them fit the story. After all, there're so many but I'm only drawing from characters from the manga. "The Big Guy" was Chad; The Snake, The Buck, and The Lioness are Sung-Sun, Appachi, and Mila Rose respectively._

_I welcome constructive criticism and suggestions or corrections should I get something wrong. All I ask is that you don't flame me. _

_R&R._


	2. Chapter 2: The Last Two Shinigami

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 2: The Death of The Last Shinigami

* * *

_There is a lot to know regarding the death of the last Shinigami. And the story that puts this single story into motion could be told from a number of perspectives, each more abstract and scholarly in thought than the last, and backed by a multitude of sources: the concept of killing and death; the similarities and differences between assassins and death; the idea of rational thought, irrational fear, and death; and the circumstances experienced by a good person or a bad person and death. _

_But that would be a digression._

…_Sometimes, the best way to tell a story is to deal with the facts and let the blanks be filled in along the way. _

_Over the course of one year almost three years ago, amongst countless stories and statistics regarding the state of the world and the deaths that take place in it, five specific people were found killed. Brutally killed. These five people each had their similarities and differences from one another: two were women; one a minor; one a senior; three in their hotel room, and two in their homes; and two overseas in France and Brazil respectively. Three out of these five people had family members, specifically, a nephew, a daughter, and two brothers—all of whom were also killed. Over time, the people who would be charged with having to work to find out the details behind these five people's lives and their deaths would learn the following facts: _

_In spite the appearances of some, all were Japanese._

_All were living under an assumed alias. If someone had been connecting the dots, they would've found that each name belonged to a baby born from a string of hospitals located in a certain town within Tokyo, Japan—a scam that would have gone unnoticed for years otherwise. All were well used, but the alias of the senior seemed the best utilized as a deed to a grand, traditional-style house in that specific town in Tokyo and several national and international bank accounts were found under said name. _

_And all were found with a weapon on their person. Each weapon's deadliness ranged from a short Samurai dagger to a katana to a semiotic pistol to household materials that could be used to make a homemade bomb when put together. However, only one death was considered to be accidental, and that death occurred in a fire._

_Unfortunately for anybody from the outside looking in, none of these similarities would connect one of these five people's death to the others, and the reason for that was because these five all worked to make sure that in the event they died, whether of natural or violent causes, the others wouldn't be exposed. It was the way these five Shinigami, these five assassins worked. _

_Now. _

_All of these deaths and facts are important to consider because they are central to the story of the death of the last Shinigami. And they're important for two reasons. The first reason being that had the deaths of the five individuals been pieced together, the goal or goals behind the death of the last Shinigami could have been hypothesized, if not revealed. But whether their deaths three years ago was because of a betrayal of that loyalty or because of a breakdown in command will remain to be unknown, possibly forever._

_And the second reason these five deaths are so important is because technically, none of the aforementioned five Shinigami were truly "the last Shinigami." They just make up part of the much larger story._

_See, unlike the first five, two individuals, a young woman, aged 26, and a slightly younger man, aged 23, were also found dead in their home. They were also living under aliases and their shared existence in the world seemed to have begun about a year before their untimely and somewhat unexpected deaths. And as far as any sort of weaponry on their person: aside from cooking utensils that could have been used in self-defense, they had no obvious artillery on their person or inside their home. _

_In fact, it may even be unfair to even call this man and this woman "the last Shinigami" with a tone of finality to the phrase. _

_After all…they weren't pronounced dead upon the arrival of first responders. _

* * *

Eight months and fourteen days to the day Kurosaki Ichigo was pronounced dead en route to Karakura Hospital and then alive, but in critical condition, and then comatose, he awakened, practically lurching to an upright position from his hospital bed.

The screams that had been waiting to burst from his chapped lips and clenched teeth caught in his throat, almost choking him. His brown eyes shifted across the dimly lit room, to the line-up of a pair of hospital chairs, to the gap between the pea-green curtains where he could see the setting sun across the Tokyo skyline…it had to be the Tokyo skyline. He could smell antiseptic and rubbing alcohol in the air, and the mild scent of soap on his own skin; he heard the ticking of a clock and then found where the sound was coming from, a black clock with a large face and white numbers placed beside the hospital room's mounted TV; he could feel different types of cotton against his otherwise bare skin: his thin hospital gown and the fuzzy, washed blanket.

And suddenly, he could feel the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. In his left leg; in his arm; in his hand; in…in his _head_, on the side of his head, like the entire side, everything. His body had a brief, but painful spasm to defend itself from a blow that had already done its damage.

And then everything that happened rushed back to him. The gunshots, the voices, the footsteps, the hyena's laughter in his ears, the bullets making a new resting home in his body, the sight of the black robed, king-crowned bastard Death, and—

"Rukia." He looked around him with more physical effort, trying to find the person that was supposed to have been beside him. "Rukia…" His fingers grasped at the side of his bed where the bars were. He gripped the thin, welded metal bars to pull himself forward. Maybe, maybe she was just…hiding…from him.

…He was alone.

"Rukia!" He screamed in a pitch much higher than his vocal range and beyond what his voice could physically handle after eight months of disuse, something blood curling.

"…Rukia! _Rukia!...RUKIA!_"

There was a new sound in the room, the sound of his door opening. He found himself having to pull himself away from his feelings, his survival instinct kicking in. His hazel-brown eyes searched around for something small and sharp, a plastic knife or a syringe…something that could stab and wound, could draw blood. He was ready to attack whoever was opening his door. He'd kill whoever it was this time; it didn't matter if his hand hurt; he could make a fist, a loose one. And he didn't care if he felt like he couldn't move; he'd make his legs do so. His senses were heightened; he was ready.

It was a nurse.

"It's okay! It's okay!" The bespectacled woman in a white nurse's uniform said to him as she ran inside his room. She made a motion to run to the bed, but stopped dead in her tracks; it was as if a wall suddenly placed itself in front of her. He was cognizant enough to remember to be observant, that it wasn't that hard for someone who had no reason to be in a hospital to sneak in and do a more thorough job on him. He needed to be sure she was who she appeared to be: she was about as young as he was; if those glasses were real, she couldn't do anything to hurt him without knocking them off; the look on her face was of genuine shock, those eyes of hers doe-like at the scene before her; no strange bulges of a concealed weapon in her uniform. At the very least, she was a medical student.

"Y, y, you're fine!" Her hands lifted and gently pushed against the air, pantomiming what she wished she could do to calm him down. "My name is Honsho Chizuru! You're in the hospital! Y, y, you're _fine_, Sasaki-san! Sasaki-san!"

He didn't even notice the mispronunciation of his surname. _"Where's Rukia?!"_

She dropped her arms and again fumbled with her words. "...W, who's Rukia?!"

It was the two worst words he'd ever heard. He screamed the name again.

"What's going on?" Two more nurses, about as young in appearance as Honsho Chizuru, practically ran into the room, two pairs of eyes as big as plates at the sight of the awakened, thrashing patient and the sound of his heart monitor beeping erratically in the room. "He's awake?!"

"Why is he screaming?"

"I don't know! Michiru-chan, please get Tsukabishi-san. Natsui-chan, help me!"

The more petite of the two, a brunette with her hair cut in a short bob, ran out the room, and Ichigo watched as the one that called herself "Honsho" and the other one, another brunette with curly hair, approached him.

"Sasaki-san, please let Natsui-chan and me help you." They proceeded to touch his chest, pressing his body back into his bed. They grit their teeth as he pushed through the force. "Sasak…Natsui-chan, get something to calm him down!"

The young nurse pulled away from the struggle, panic on her face. "Right, right, right…" There was the sound of metallic instruments being moved. "Uh, uh, uh…." The young nurse looked over at the door. "Wait, you shouldn't be here right now! He's in shock! We're trying to give him a sedative! Please, please! Just wait outside for a few moments!"

Ichigo looked over at the door and calmed, unaware of the women and their hands pressed against his chest now, or the pinch felt as the needle broke through his skin.

There was a man and a woman standing in the doorway, easy to recognize and hard to ignore with unreadable faces.

His mentors. His parents.

"The Goddess"…and "The Princess' Bard."

The dizzying feeling of the anesthesia hit him like a tidal wave, and even though he tried to fight against it and the darkness that laid behind his eyelids, he immediately gave in to the medication.

* * *

It was dark when he woke up again. The lighting was dim in the hospital room, and as his eyes slid over to where he had seen the sun before, it was completely dark outside.

…He wasn't alone. There was a conversation that had faded away with his stirring.

The woman was the first to realize he was awake. "Ichigo." Her lips stretched out in a Cheshire Cat smile, but it lacked the smug, sure feel it usually had.

"Yor...uichi-san." He rasped.

"You're awake." The dark-skinned beauty walked over to him, the sound of her sandals slapping against the floor, and leaned down to kiss his forehead. He eyed the sight of her black maxi dress, her bare arms, the sight of her beautiful hair in its high ponytail. The look of her being normal, a civilian. "And you look the same as always." Her warm hand pressed where her lips had left, running through his hair like it usually had when he used to get sick as a child.

Her yellow eyes searched his hazel colored ones, and he could immediately feel that they were hiding something from him. Something important.

"…I knew you wouldn't leave us behind. You're a bit too stubborn for death." A male's voice spoke out, and the steady sounds of the room, his heart monitor and his low breathing, were interrupted by the hollow sounds of wooden _geta_ walking across the hospital floor. "…But just the same, and again, I'm happy you're awake, Ichigo-kun."

A feeling of foreboding filled Ichigo's bones with the sound of this somewhat whimsical and carefree voice. He stared at the second face hovering over him, inhaled the sudden smell of peppermint candies. The wispy, graying stubble on the chin and messy ash-blond hair. The familiar stripped white-and-green hat and the pair of gray eyes that stared at him below its brim.

He made a move with his right hand for some water.

With the deft movements that made her "The Goddess," Yourichi's hands moved around the food tray adjacent to his bed the quick, quiet sound of water being poured into a cup audible in his ears. He drank the water gratefully, and asked for more for a second time.

The air was punctuated with the empty sound of his cup being slammed on the food tray. Honey-brown eyes stared into gray eyes. "…Urahara."

Urahara watched Yourichi step away from the two of them. "…I'll be getting Ushoda-san," she said.

"Okay." The sandal-clad man stared after her retreating figure and then at the bedridden young man. "Listen to me." Urahara's voice was still carefree in tone, but there was a hard edge that could not be unrecognized. "Before we have company. …Your name is still 'Sasaki Jiro.' And Rukia's is 'Sasaki Yuki.' Remember that before the Shihoin returns with your doctor."

Ichigo gripped the side of his hospital bed, trying his best to sit upright. "Rukia…where is Rukia?" The urgency was back in his voice. "Where's—"

The older man placed a hand on Ichigo's shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "Rukia's alive…she woke up two days ago, asking for you…"

This seemed to be what Ichigo needed to hear for now. Her being alive meant there was a chance, a very slim chance that…

He sank back into his bed.

Urahara straightened up, and his hat shrouded his gray eyes once more. "…She wouldn't have left you behind in this world, Ichigo. She's probably the only other person I know that's as stubborn as you."

* * *

Five bullets. And according to his living, breathing mountain of a doctor, five fully healed bullet wounds.

One embedded in his shin. It mostly came out clean in the surgery, apart from a sliver or two, and while they were worried initially, it was safe from infection. A very lucky turnout.

Three more bullet holes on the left side of his body. One in his forearm, one in his shoulder, and one that went through his palm. Again, he was very lucky as the damage was not too serious. All wounds healed without infection or complication, and with physical therapy, he would even be able to hold heavy objects without much pain.

And one embedded in the side of his head. This one was the hardest to remove. It had taken three hours. Its removal and placement of the metal plate were called a miracle—a miracle and an attest to the skill of both his doctor and the rest of the team at Karakura Hospital. Although, he would never be able to easily walk through airport security again, his doctor joked.

He was grateful, of course. To have been saved; to have been alive and taken care of; to be awake. He was tired, but didn't want to sleep; he'd been sleeping since January apparently. He'd missed his own birthday; he was 24 now. And after listening to his surgeon go through the specifics, filling in the blanks he didn't know and talking on and on and leaving him to try his hardest to remember that day and the people who had tried to put him in the ground…he just wanted Rukia.

The only information the doctor didn't give him was the one Ichigo really wanted to know. And he was still trying his best to not ask the one question he had been demanding to know the answer to since being brought out of the Hell he'd been living in.

After an assertion that echoed Urahara's request that his recovery not be released in the news for the sake of privacy, he was finally allowed to see her.

He watched as she was wheeled into his room, as beautiful as he remembered her, but even tinier than usual; the lavender hospital robe practically swaddled her. Those eyes of hers glowed when they met his glance, the most important part of the pleasant, elegant performance he knew she remembered to put on, even now after coming from the edge of death itself. But they were as big as he remembered and always told him exactly what he wanted to know.

…He didn't like what he could see now because it meant something bad, even before she said anything.

"…You took too long to wake up, _baka_."

"_Che_. The doctor said you've only been awake for two days." He hesitated and then lowered his glance. "…I'm sorry."

The thin mask he finally noticed she was wearing, the one that she had put on to let everyone think everything was okay and _she_ was okay, cracked slightly. "...Everyone, please leave." She whispered.

The sounds of too many footsteps, of wooden sandals walking across the floor receded. The hospital door made a slight squeaking sound, one he hadn't noticed earlier, as it was closed with a quiet _click_.

Rukia looked up at him and her eyes were glassy. She held his glance, but then suddenly looked away.

He stared at her, his wife, and waited for her say something.

Tears slipped from her eyes.

And then he knew.

About…_Them._

He felt his heart spasm and then stop beating—literally; his heart monitor made absolutely no sound for what would have been two heartbeats.

Again, for the second time since his awakening, he found himself unable to speak.

Her hand grabbed his wrist and pulled it towards her, moving it towards her stomach.

His fingertips pressed against…nothing…

There was no one there.

He already knew, had felt it in his bones, but the feeling of only touching the rough cotton of her hospital robe and the flat plane of her stomach through the pale green material…the feeling of stillness inside of her, no one kicking against his hand or knowing that he was near. It made it real and unavoidable.

He tried his best not to rip her gown open to expose her skin. But still, his grasp was shaky as he grabbed the fabric and pulled it up, her milky white thighs exposed underneath his grasp.

There, amongst the other scratches that marred her body, marks he didn't remember her practically perfect skin ever having before that day, New Year's Day morning, was a healed incision across her stomach. The incision of a sharp edge right where the two people he had promised to protect were no longer. Right where his hand always touched, right where the lives and people growing inside of her had been right up until eight months and fourteen days ago. An angry gash right on the skin of the one person, the first person, he had promised to protect.

Her body shook from the emotion, and tears fell against his skin, the sound of her sobbing soft and yet magnified in his ringing ears. She kept his hand on her and sobbed, shaking with the effort. "Ichigo… When I woke up, I asked for you… And then I asked about…them… And, and, and the doctor said…they…they didn't…"

He felt his own tears prickle in the corners of his eyes, and the pain he had been choking on for so long finally slipped through his clenched teeth, but for an altogether different reason now.

They hadn't survived.

His children.

The second chapter to his new life.

The life he had made with Rukia.

Together, they sat there in their shared pain, back from the dead, tears blurring their vision and rolling down their faces like rain. And the malice Ichigo felt through his whole, broken being so thick it hurt to know someone had thought _he_ deserved to continue breathing.

He could only hold his wife as best as he could and cry out his anguish.

* * *

_Chapter 2. I hope you felt as many feels in reading this chapter as I did writing it. R&R._


	3. Chapter 3: Mr Hollow & The Red Rabbit

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 3: Mr. Hollow and The Red Rabbit (part 1)

* * *

Hirako Shinji. "The Pharaoh." Leader of The Vizard.

Pegging him at first glance, his style was something reminiscent of the sixties Mod look: a caramel-colored pea coat sprinkled with snow from the unexpected November snowfall; a green Oxford sweater layered over another dress shirt and red gingham tie; khakis; wingtip shoes with green dress socks; and a newsboy hat. A beat-up black violin case was beside his leg. The whole get up was enough to blend him in with the other squares that had walked in before him, but distinctive enough to draw quick conclusions about his character—flamboyant; a jazz lover; talkative; a round peg in a square hole, but harmless. His long fingers loosened his tie; his toe tapped in time to the freestyle jazz blaring from a solitary speaker perched on a shelf of white mugs and teacups.

The girl working the counter of the kissaten walked over, a white mug in one hand and a tiny book in the other. "Your coffee is ready," the girl deadpanned, placing a huge, steaming mug and a white slip of paper on the nicked wooden table.

_"Arigato."_ He dug out 600 yen from his pocket, placed it in the girl's upturned palm, and picked up his receipt. He didn't bother looking behind him to see the girl's retreating figure.

His fingers tore open few sugar packets and dumped the tiny white crystals into the hot liquid, stirring and disrupting the plume of steam coming from the white porcelain. And for the first time, he acknowledged the shared glance of honey-brown and amethyst eyes staring at him from across the table.

"…I'm happy that both of you are alive and well." Shinji's eyes watched the plume of steam coming from his mug. "…I'm sorry I didn't visit you very much. I was…busy—you know how it is." His lips stretched into a smile that bared the top row of his teeth. "It's a little harder to come back to Tokyo when my work takes me to Britain and Europe all the time."

He attempted to take a generous quaff of his coffee. "…But I figure you're not here to chew me out."

"No, we're not." Ichigo leaned forward a little. He was already all business, the look on his face serious. "…You have Zangetsu."

He gave his teeth-baring smile once more; he'd seen Ichigo's particular expression too many times to be disturbed by it.

"And you have both my Sode no Shirayuki." Rukia said.

Shinji just sipped his coffee again. The jazz playing in the kissaten had changed once more, another fast-tempo melody. His finger tapped a rhythm to the erratic beat on the edge of the table; his toe tapped against his violin case. "…And who told you that?"

"Hat and Clogs."

"Oh." He drank from his cup again. "Suddenly, our meeting makes so much more sense."

He patted the top of his violin case once more, but with meaning.

"We came here to get them back."

"Ahhh," the sound and his opened mouth exposed his tongue ring. He took another drink of his coffee; a longer sip as he realized the liquid had cooled enough."…He's correct. But then again, he would be: he gave them to me… They've been keeping Sakanade company at home."

He stared at the two, at their clenched hands and the serious, deadly look shared in their eyes. And then he dropped all pretenses of his own harmlessness.

"And what would you be doing with Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki?"

"Finishing some unfinished business."

He nodded, understanding where the story was going. "Do you know against whom?"

"We don't know who they are yet."

" 'They?'" Hirako repeated over the brim of his cup with a raised eyebrow.

"They." He and Rukia spoke in unison, their voices marked with a sharp edge.

Another deep quaff. "So how does the old man feel about this? Is he helping or is he unsympathetic to your cause for whatever reason?"

"…It's not that he's unsympathetic…"

_"It's not that I'm unsympathetic to your cause. But…I do not raise Benihime to kill anymore." Urahara lifted his cane and pulled the bottom to reveal the long, thin blade. His arm made a few swipes, and the sounds of Benihime cutting the air sounded like music in their ears. "I swore that vow and then broke that vow only once—for you, Ichigo. I can't do it again. _

_"…All I am these days…is the poor owner of a small time candy store." He put Benihime back in her sheath. The nonchalant, enigmatic smile returned to his face, albeit much sadder in appearance._

"And what will you do if your move to finish unfinished business fails."

"We won't fail, Hirako-san. We aren't moving only on our own behalf." Rukia's hand slipped from his and touched her stomach. "They tried to kill us and failed. But they still killed two other people. And so, for that…we're forced to go back to who we were…For balance."

He truly looked at them for the first time since sitting down. "…You're better than Ichigo at voicing your feelings. ...I know you wouldn't want to fail. But let's be honest and not pretend that Urahara-san hasn't told me everything I needed to know already—you two haven't touched your swords in almost two years. And yes, you survived your ordeal, and Ichigo can even hold a cup with his bad hand. But if you go against whoever did this to you, you will fail in the condition your bodies are in."

Ichigo sat with a grim face, his silence his way of agreeing with the sentiment. He reached over and grabbed Rukia's hand again. "...So what are you saying, Shinji."

He put his cup down and frowned at the layer of sugar on its bottom. "...I'm saying that the old man says that I should help you."

"…And why would he say that?"

Shinji stared into Ichigo's eyes, "Because he knows I agree with your cause, for my own personal reasons. And no, you can't know them; you would think they were bad reasons. And because this is what he's asked me to do. He's not going to train you, but he's more sympathetic than you'd think… And you know that it's better not to refuse Ol' Hat and Cloggy. So bringing your bodies back up to speed is first.

"As for finding your 'they'… They're still a lot of us that talk even when we're not supposed to. And anyone that can say they killed Mr. Hollow and The Red Rabbit—there's gotta be some fucktard flappin his lips out there, begging for it.

"So, let me say welcome—or, in Ichigo's case, welcome back to The Vizard."

* * *

"You can't hold your sword right. Or rather…you're not handling your sword right."

Ichigo pulled back, sighing heavily with his back against the warehouse wall. He lifted his mask, the bone-white mask with the barred demon teeth and two thick black lines on either side of his face. The sweat from his forehead was practically running down his face, he'd been trying to fight so hard. He needed to get his mask _off_—he needed to breathe.

Physical therapy had helped him enough to help him walk and run again; taught him how to handle having to push his body for so long again.

But this—this training. And…_this_—this feeling of pain in his grip…his shoulder…

"I can...handle...Zangetsu. I've..._always_ been able to handle Zangetsu, Rojuro." He took in deep breaths, free from the shroud and able to fully breath in his air.

Otoribashi Rojuro a.k.a "Rose." A guy that had come into The Vizard just before he had left.

"I'm not denying it, Kurosaki-san." Rose's fingers pulled out the thin black ribbon holding back his long, wheat-blond locks. His eyes looked at the katana-length cleaver of a sword, black and silver edged with a scrap of cloth and tape around the handle. "Shinji says you're practically ambidextrous. But you're working too hard to handle it. Especially with strikes that go from right to left or have you change hand positions. You're cringing when you use your left hand, and I don't need to see your face to know it's true."

Ichigo grit his teeth.

Zangetsu…it was the same as always—the same way it had looked and felt before he had abandoned it almost two years ago, never intending to touch it again…except it was…it was…

Heavier. Two years, and the imbalance he felt when he swung it. It wasn't necessarily him having to get used to it; Zangetsu was an extension of his arm. But the goddamn feeling…

He looked over at where Rukia was, her own fight against Shinji's ward—Hiyori or something—finished. Subterfuge was Rukia's forte, but she knew her way with those blades. Countering, spinning, striking, throwing her opponent off-balance; it was like a dance. The way she moved was still as quick and adaptable as always, her moniker still well-earned.

His eyes focused on her concerned glance and then those two lightweight, pure-white blades of hers. Her Sode no Shirayuki.

And then at Zangetsu, heavy in his hand; more of a hindrance than a help now. He gripped the handle tightly, letting his left arm fall to his side, flexing his fingers like how'd he been taught whenever he felt a twinge of pain...and there were a lot of twinges of pain.

Rojuro unbuttoned his shirt. "…Kurosaki, you are not entirely who you were before. Whatever you went through, whatever you've come from has changed you—you're a different Mr. Hollow now and the things you need to be able to survive have changed.

"Your mask...you need to design it to allow yourself to breathe better. And Zangetsu—if you intend to do what you say you're going to do, it has be able to be handled better—it has to be lighter."

* * *

"_Ahhh!_ Kensei—Kens~ei!"

Muguruma Kensei. The man who replaced him when he left. Handle: "The 69er."

And the green-haired girl. Mashiro Kuna. "GoGo."

When Shinji had told him where he and Rukia were sleeping and whom they were sleeping by, he hadn't understood why he had laughed about it.

Now he knew. For all the complaints the silver-haired guy had about GoGo annoying him every minute of every day, things between them were very different in the dead of night. Apparently that "69" tattoo was open to interpretation. He could only imagine what was going on in the room beside him—and he hated himself for it.

"_Kens~ei!..._it's so hot… Right there—right ther—_ahh!"_ Mashiro half-whined, half-moaned.

His arms slid Rukia across the flower-patterned bedspread to bring her closer to him, the smell of her, like nighttime and snow, filling his nostrils. The sounds of her deep, even breathing in his ears. She had become an inconsistent sleeper, more prone to twitching and jerking in her slumber one night, and then more rock-like the next, but he found himself unable to do the same this night. Her body melded against his through the long underwear she wore, her clothing of choice completely…unsexy.

Guttural moaning from a male.

The tiny body beside him, twitching in her sleep with a furrowed brow.

...One year.

Eleven months and seventeen days to be exact.

That was eight months of being without her, without her inky-black hair tickling his nose in the morning; without his hands creeping up her thighs and pulling down the elastic of her pajama bottoms—those really tiny yellow shorts that she wore with the thigh-high school girl socks—and then her panties, those Chappy ones she wore. And then another three months of physical therapy: having to strengthen the muscles in their bodies; to learn how do things that were always easy to do and push to be able to do the things he wanted…running, jumping. Three months of them insisting on staying in the same hospital room, her sneaking out of her bed to join him in his in the dead of night, and only being able to hold her, to reach under those goddamn blankets and gowns and press his fingertips against that cut of hers.

Eleven months. Eleven months..._plus._

Of being with her, and yet, without her: without her on top of him, the swell of her ass in his hands; without her moaning and sighing and telling him how she wanted it, and getting pleased in return…three of those eleven months spent not knowing how to ask her if she wanted to…if she felt the same way he felt with all that yelling and fucking going on in the next room…or if she was ready.

…He didn't think _he_ was ready. He _did_ have needs; his body liked reminding him of them from time to time, but he wasn't ready to do all of the things they had done before.

And now, almost one year later: the same. Except for—

"Kens~ei, harder—_ahh!_—_harder_—Like, like that, Kens~ei," and the sounds of bedsprings squeaking in his ears.

* * *

One year from the year Ichigo had been killed in his home, one year from the day his children had been taken away from him. New Year's Day.

With his good arm, he placed Zangetsu and a notebook full of scribbles and scratches on a table.

"I want…I _need_ to make it lighter, Aikawa-san."

Aikawa Love: "Mr. Ai."

Mr. Ai's eyes slid from one side of his sunglasses frame to the other, his fingers pulling at one of the pronged tips of his star-shaped afro. "…What are you thinking?"

"Thinner than this…a regular katana, I guess. But distinctive still. Maybe…" His fingers ran over the middle of Zangetsu, where black blade met silver edge. "Down the middle."

Mr. Ai nodded in approval, seeing something take shape. He grabbed the notebook, did a quick sketch of the sword and made notes. "…I don't make a katana without a hilt or tsubasa. That cool?"

Ichigo nodded.

"Okay. I'll make a design for it—something nice." More scribbled kanji. "Got a color you're thinking of for the hilt?"

He scratched his head to think and then gave up. He didn't really care. "…Nothing flashy. As long as it's light to handle."

Mr. Ai nodded his head, a few more scribbles on the notebook. "…Black. To match the blade."

"Okay. When will it be ready?"

"Maybe give me a week from now. It's a process, but it'll be ready whenever you are."

"Fine."

* * *

Another night with the sounds of sex bleeding through a shared wall.

Another night of he and Rukia lying in bed together, exhausted and sore, but less so than before. They could have talked about normal things—the lovers in the next room; how tired they were; her birthday coming up. They could have maybe done exactly what the lovers were doing.

She was snuggled against him with her hands under his shirt for his body heat, her nightclothes covering her from head to toe. And he had shifted his body to brush away some extra strands of hair from her face.

And their shared thoughts were too one-track…too murderous and full of rage.

"…Us doing this is justified." He suddenly said out in the relative silence. It was a question.

She nodded. "Yeah. …I _know_ that we're not doing this halfheartedly. We've crowned this as our cause…remember, this just isn't for us. We've done bad things, even if it was to bad people…but the two of _them_, they didn't have a chance to do anything…" Her voice trailed off, but not before he heard the crack in her tone.

"I remember." His hand reached to cup her face, expecting tears. His fingers didn't feel wet. "...Are you worried we're waiting too long?" He asked.

"No. I've waited longer before...We'll know when the time is right."

"…Are you scared?"

She snuggled closer to him and her hand imprinted its heat on his body. Two halves of the same whole. "…I'm scared about your hand."

"My hand is fine." He used it to brush her black hair from her face. "…Zangetsu…You know I'll protect you."

"_Baka_," she chuckled gently, but it sounded like a content sigh, "like I'd ask you."

"_Midget_…you know I will. I'll protect you.

"And I'll protect _you_. Like we always do."

Her voice trailed off and the sounds from the other room entered their space again, cries for more, harder, like that…to be taken over the edge. Two forms of intimacy across a shared wall.

"…I'm scared that when we find them and I kill them…they won't feel the pain that I feel right now…or I'll do it too fast and they'll die before I want them to." There was the deadliness of The Red Rabbit in her voice.

He sat and listened to those sounds, not voicing that he shared those fears too. "…I promise when we find them, they'll feel it. We'll bring them back from the dead and make them feel it over and over again if we have to." There was the deadliness of Mr. Hollow in his.

The sounds of Mashiro telling the world she was at her climax broke through their stillness, more so than all the other previous sounds.

"A thousand little deaths?" Rukia half-joked, nudging her head towards the source.

"A thousand deaths. …I have to get my licks too, so you're going to have to save some for me." And he bent down and kissed her, still not ready, but in love with the feel of her on his lips, the way she responded in kind, just as giving and wanting of touch. For just a taste of the things normal lovers did at night.

And as she began to breathe deeply and evenly, he lapsed into the silence, letting a string of thoughts that kept killers like him up late at night run through his head over and over again.

Another orgasm from the next room rang in the air.

He felt Rukia's hands on his stomach and he inhaled the smell of her hair.

* * *

"I think I've got a name for you."

Risa Yadomaru

"The Otaku"

His hazel eyes and Rukia's violet ones stared at the woman. He practically dropped his mask, in spite of all the work he had put into repainting it. There was a cold feeling inside of him.

"A name…You've got a name?"

"Ichigo." Shinji put down the rock he'd been using to sharpen his sword. His hand lifted to calm Ichigo down. "…Risa, who gave it to you."

"Marechiyo Omaeda."

"Who's that?" Ichigo asked, demanding answers.

Lisa looked over at him. "He's now a useless and very dead bastard. His dad hired me to kill him."

"Something about wanting him cut out the family will, keep his brother in." Shinji said.

Risa settled down unto a vacant metal fold-out chair and pulled out an eromanga for her bag, one she and Rojuro and Ai had been fighting over for turns in the past week. The sounds of paper rustling as she flipped the pages were the only ones heard as she pulled out a piece of paper covered in writing from a notepad.

"How did he tell you?" Ichigo asked.

"I was wearing a wig I own…a blue one. According to him, there's a killer that has blue hair. He thought I worked with him; called him an 'Espada.'"

"Espada?"

" 'Espada?'" Shinji echoed. "The _fuck's_ an Espada?!"

"He wasn't alive long enough to tell me," she deadpanned. "And it wouldn't have mattered—he only knew two things about one of them:

"One goes by the name 'Pantera.' He known to some people as something else," she read her paper, "…'Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez..."

" 'Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez'..." Shinji sat down and nodded; he'd heard the name a few times.

"Yeah. But now he's sometimes Pantera. And he has blue hair."

Ichigo's body jolted in reaction to pain. He looked down to see that Rukia's hand was clenched tight around his forearm. Her face was pale and her knuckles were white; he felt her fingernails dig into his skin. It was enough to make him think she was drawing blood.

It told him all he needed to know.

His hand clenched around his mask, the new designs on its left side like bloodied claw marks. The drying red paint still felt a little wet and stained his fingertips. "…What's the second thing?"

"Omaeda hired Pantera for a job against his brother. That's how he knew about him. Paid him half his fee; was going to have the other half transferred to him soon."

"When'd he want the job to drop."

"..."

_"When'd he want the job to drop!"_

"Ichigo," Shinji warned. "...Risa, answer the question. Please."

Her dark green eyes looked at The Pharaoh and then at him. Mr. Hollow.

"A birthday...I don't know whose birthday, but a birthday."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews thus far! _

_So, yknow how when Ichigo is defeated/mortally wounded, he goes into this crazy training session and his sword and powers change? I thought I'd do the same here. It's a good way of making the story more complete like incorporating The Vizard. Plus, I think that with "Death of the Shinigami" and this chapter, you see Ichigo and Rukia as husband and wife; now I want to go into how they're killers._

_I realized about halfway through writing this that Mashiro's handle, "GoGo," is similar to Tarantino's "Go Go Yubari." While I luv some QT and Go Go Yubari, my use of the nickname comes from the fact that Mashiro outfit reminds of __Speedracer__. Eh._

_Um, please R&R because it gives me life! And make sure to Story Alert/Follow this. _


	4. Chapter 4: The Espada Pantera

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia AU Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 4:

"Pantera

"(Jaegerjaquez Grimmjow)"

* * *

He was holding a semi-automatic in each hand. And each piece of cold, black steel had a silencer on their muzzles.

And one of those muzzles was aimed at somebody's head.

"…What? You're not gonna say nothing?"

He was staring at a man with pair of eyes as blue-gray as the grease-stained mechanic's jumpsuit he wore.

"I'm doing the speaking for both of us."

The man with the blue grey eyes turned his head away. "…That's right. Mr. Hollow doesn't ever talk. Well, I'm not that much of a conversationalist myself. I'm an even worse chef," he said, lifting a finger to point to the crumpled bag of MOS Burger placed atop a stack of unopened mail, packs of unused disposable chopsticks, and old McDonald's napkins. "If I had known you were going to be sitting in my apartment, I would have saved you something from lunch."

The Red Rabbit, with the faintest of smirks on her lips from the joke, uncrossed her arms. In spite the rush of heat in the breadbox-sized kitchen, she kept her rabbit-patterned scarf tied around her neck, the thick material dried from their walk through the wintry February mix commonplace in the Hokkaido Prefecture. They had been lying in wait for the blue grey-eyed man's arrival with guns and blades in hand. "…We were hoping to finish talking to you before you have to go pick up Lillynette from her afternoon club."

Coyote Starrk's eyes narrowed slightly at the name that slipped out The Red Rabbit's mouth. Bringing up the name of his daughter meant that they knew more than the killers he made partnerships with should know…and that they had been around for...a while...

Mr. Hollow lifted one of his guns a little higher, a warning. Coyote Starrk had every right to get angry that his daughter's name had been brought up in their conversation, but that didn't stop him from aiming the business end of cold steel at the guy's right eye.

Those blue grey eyes shifted to stare at the silent killer standing in the doorway of his tiny kitchen. In spite of the heavy but unzipped puff jacket he wore, Mr. Hollow was dressed for death as always: white shirt with a purple collar; black pants; black alligator loafers; Zangetsu, his former butcher knife of a sword turned katana, in his belt loops; and his mask.

Mr. Hollow watched The Red Rabbit shift in her chair, the heel of her left purple flat rubbing against the side of a duffle bag. His glance focused on the Sode no Shirayuki, the mid-forearm length wakizashi resting in her lap, and its twin hanging from her belt loop. She was dressed in the same colors: long-sleeved white shirt, trademark white gloves, black cigarette pants and those flats; her hair was tied up in a bun. She was unperturbed. "Mr. Hollow and I aren't going to do anything as long as you keep your hands on the table. And we don't plan on staying here long because we're only here to talk."

Mr. Hollow, taking his partner's cue, lowered the metal back to his side.

Coyote Starrk's forehead furrowed. He pressed his hands against the black Formica tabletop and glanced around the kitchen once more, as if the wall calendar or Lillynette's report cards and test scores on the refrigerator doors could explain what was going on. _" 'Talk?'"_ He repeated with skepticism.

"Talk." She repeated.

"I usually don't talk to assassins in my home. Something about their get-ups I don't trust." He lifted finger pointed to The Red Rabbit's mask that obscured the upper half of her face, white leather with nose, whiskers, and ears. His voice was biting. "It doesn't help you stole all my silverware, and you walked in my place with your dirty shoes still on."

"We're looking for Jagerjaquez Grimmjow."

" 'Jagerjaquez Grimmjow?'" The mechanic repeated.

"Or 'Grimmjow Jagerjaquez.'...'The Espada Pantera.'"

Coyote Starrk looked over at her. "What does that have to do with me?"

"…No one knows the name of The Espada Pantera's contractor—but everyone knows that you're the contractor for Grimmjow Jagerjaquez. And that when you give him a job, he takes it.

"We're looking for him, and you're probably the only way we'd be able to find him."

"And what do you want with Grimmjow Jagerjaquez?"

"You've heard the story; don't act as if you don't know." The Red Rabbit spat, her voice hard and icy. She was referring to the two universally known facts they had learned about The Espada Pantera also known as Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

_The Espada Pantera also known as Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, by all accounts, is a textbook sociopath: unfeeling, unremorseful, impulsive, arrogant, criminal. And a killer._

_While the name of the person who taught him to kill remains a mystery, The Espada Pantera, being a textbook sociopath, treats his occupation like it's a game, with him as the predator and his paid targets like mice. He has no qualms about killing another human being or killing outside of his contract; he has no exception on who he won't kill at any price. Whole families, from a grandfather to the family pet, as well as policemen, hotel maids, strippers, junkies, and innocent bystanders have all been known to die at his hand on a whim, kicked aside with their eyes still open with a look of horror on their faces, and left to be discovered by the authorities._

…_And the other universally known fact:_

_Although no one knows for sure who was the first person The Espada Pantera also known as Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez killed, his most famous kill, the self-proclaimed "perfect kill" that had made him a true, high-priced contract killer was the supposed hit he did on two of the best and most fearsome killers of all killers, The missing Shinigami Mr. Hollow and The Red Rabbit. It's this particular job, done over a year ago on New Year's Day, that he's been known to consider the greatest job he's ever done. He's known to emphasize how easy it was to do it; that all he had to do was get inside their home, "fuck 'em up real nasty," and then "kill 'em even nastier." The details of his method are horrible—and they are his major selling point._

_And he's not above doing what he did to The Red Rabbit for anyone asking and willing to pay extra._

Mr. Hollow watched the two, his eyes sliding from side to side.

"…And why should I help you."

Mr. Hollow's finger gave a butterfly's tap against the trigger, but he didn't make a move. The sounds of the kitchen clock and the heating system kicking in again filled his ears.

"We did our research on you the moment your name came up. There'll be enough money in your commission to pay off all your bank statements… You and Lillynette could even spend a week at Disneyland if you wanted."

Coyote Starrk scoffed, murmured, "You don't know her," but surprisingly and wisely choose not to ask where the money was coming from. Silence overtook the tiny kitchen once more. "...You're giving him a ribbon." The term and accusation of luring and ambushing the killer rang out and carried a tinge of blame with it.

"...Is this you feeling guilty?"

He nodded his head. "Yeah...I'm a contractor, but not heartless."

The Red Rabbit leaned forward slightly. "Thinking of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez as a comrade is one-sided on your end. If the tables were turned, if we were looking for _you_ and he knew where you could be and when, he wouldn't hesitate like this at all. Remember: you're being honorable about a guy who'd give you up, and possibly kill your daughter if a bottom line as big as the one we're going to give you fell in his lap.

"...If you're fearful that he'd come and find you like we came and found you, that won't happen. We don't plan on just baiting him. And if you don't want to know how we're going to do it, we won't tell you." The Red Rabbit sat back in her chair, a knowing look in her eye, but her hand still gripped around her blade.

He stared at her masked face and then his fingers. Over and over and over again. He had already agreed; he just hadn't seen the bottom line yet.

"…I walked in here with a bag in my hand. You saw it."

Coyote Starrk nodded.

"That bag has half of your payment for the job and a phone. We want the job you give him to have a safe house—and the job you give him _has_ to be legitimate."

"I _get_ it."

"You get the address for the safe house and text it to us when he takes the job. And when we finish, you'll receive the rest of your bottom line. It's that simple."

He nodded again, solemnly.

Mr. Hollow's gun rose again and its twin followed; outwardly, he appeared calm as always, but every muscle in his body was coiled tight like a spring trap.

Red Rabbit stood and pulled the bowling bag up from the floor with a quiet sound of exertion, and placed it on the table. Coyote Starrk's missing silverware made metallic scraping sounds inside. "You're not allowed to touch the bag until five minutes after we leave. If you agree, use the phone. If you don't agree, after five minutes, you can leave the bag outside if you want. But if you come out before five minutes is up, Mr. Hollow won't hesitate.

"And if something goes wrong, picking up Lillynette from school won't be your biggest problem."

She walked out of the kitchen with quick steps, protected by Mr. Hollow and the guns in his hands. With careful steps, he made his own exit, honey-brown eyes and cold steel still trained on Coyote Starrk's seated figure.

Five minutes passed.

_"O .k."_

* * *

It had been a week when the cell phone lit up in the dead of night:

_"Mr. Gouro Saito_

_"15-13-1 Sumiyoshi-ku, Matsubara_

_"Osaka 600-8216"_

Saito Gouro-san. Subarea 15, Block 3, building 1. The Sumiyoshi-ku district in Matsubara, Osaka…

_"2. 14"_

February 14. Valentine's Day. …Four days.

"I go first," The Red Rabbit said, her deadly uncompromising killer's tone filling his ears.

"I go first. Or we go at the same time." His killer's tone.

"…He says he does what he did to me for extra... _I._ Go. First."

* * *

The Espada Pantera, also known as Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, may have suspected something was wrong as he walked inside the townhouse, but the fight had already fallen out of his favor.

Mr. Hollow didn't need the lights on the living room to see the first strike. He knew by the time The Espada Pantera had even thought of taking off the heavy boots he had worn to fight off the cold, The Red Rabbit had already emerged from her hiding place in the closet feet first, kicked the side of his leg with her Doc Martens and made her first swipe across the back of his Achilles heel.

"Argh!"

The sounds of another blow landing and stumbling, the front door slamming shut, and a grope in the dark for the light switch. One of the Sode no Shirayuki's blades caught in the thin sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtained windows and made another swipe for the tall, gangly outline at the entrance.

Mr. Hollow watched from the figure stumble once more, but not fall. "Argh! That's my—_shit!_" The cry sounded like a howl. "Fuck!"

The Sode no Shirayuki sliced through the air at the same time Pantera's fingers found the light switch.

Three pairs of eyes adjusted to the flooding of light in the living room.

A year and change hadn't made Pantera any less recognizable: early thirties; still tall; still muscular; face gaunt and narrow, although he couldn't remember him wearing makeup; the same hue of sky-blue hair. His movements were restricted: a large black coat with studs and fur trim; his left pants leg was turning a darker shade of blue.

Hazel and violet eyes watched a pair of sky-blue eyes—contacts—switch from left to right and then up and down, counting the weapons they were holding and noting the all-black clothing and heavy boots they wore. All of their hands moved with deadly intent to their weapons: The Red Rabbit's white gloves gripping the white handle of her Sode no Shirayuki; his own flexing in assurance at the brass knuckles around his fingers; and Pantera's reaching for whatever he had brought with him.

"…Who the fuck're you?"

Neither spoke.

Sky-blue eyes did another back-and-forth…and then focused on Mr. Hollow, his bone-white mask. His eyes widened for a second before narrowing again, a snarl on his lips.

He knew who they were now. He knew how serious their killing intent was now.

The Red Rabbit tried to make another stab, but over estimated. The Espada Pantera pivoted on his bad leg and Sode no Shirayuki became embedded in the front door.

Pantera backhanded her off her feet and sent her falling into the closet. The sound of her body slamming to the floor was solid. The set of empty hangers shook on the coat rod and clanged against each other.

Mr. Hollow made his move, pulling on The Espada's free arm and bringing brass knuckles to face and following through with an elbow. He missed, Pantera already anticipating the second move. He tried yanking the man off balance, but found the move used against him, the force making him let go. Mr. Hollow stumbled towards the open space of the living room and felt the back of his legs make friends with the edge of the coffee table.

Pantera weighed his options, but noticed Sode no Shirayuki. He turned back to the closet with gleaming eyes, half-dragging his bad leg.

Mr. Hollow tried to right himself once more, his hand gripping the arm of a white loveseat. He had to get over there.

"You think you, can, get me, huh, you fuckin' cunt?" Punches were connecting to the wall; feminine grunts of pain—punches connecting to The Red Rabbit's body. "You think you can—" The tirade was cut off with a sharp exhale. "…Fuckin' _BITCH!_"

Mr. Hollow heard the sounds of pain turn masculine and the almost musical chime of the empty coat hangers shaking and hitting each other. The door opened. The Red Rabbit's body was coiled for a sprint from the space. The mark of The Espada Pantera's fist had the side of her face turning red and her hand over her ribs.

Her other Sode no Shirayuki was grasped in her other hand, an inch-long trail of blood on the blade.

Her run to grab her first sword sent her body slamming to the floor.

Pantera had a grip around her foot and a leg lock with his good leg. She struggled and her free hand clenched the carpet.

Mr. Hollow made the rush to his partner.

Hazel eyes stared at sky-blue orbs shrouded in darkness, and the low glint of a pistol, maybe a .22.

And then came the sound of a thunderstorm under a pillow and something whizzed past him.

Behind him, the t.v. screen shattered.

He did a half-turn to over to where the screen was mounted, in plain sight—a distraction—and ducked as the screen shattered again.

Pantera screamed in pain, the sound feral and thundering in the room.

The Red Rabbit freed herself and half-ran forward and behind the loveseat, another sliver of red making a trail on the carpet as it fell from the blade.

Four more tiny thunderstorms. The light fixtures affixed on the side of the living room stairs exploded.

Mr. Hollow took a chance, rushed forward again once more, but faked to his left towards the couch. His footfalls raced over the couch cushions.

Pantera came out of the closet, gun first.

Mr. Hollow pushed him back inside with a steel-toed shoe and side-stepped towards the front door, Sode no Shirayuki's handle digging into his back. He saw Pantera emerge once more. He gripped The Espada's wrist, and gave him a kick to the inner thigh and the feel of brass knuckles to his ribs and his hipbone.

And then he wrapped his arm around Pantera's and put pressure to the wrist.

The bone snapped.

_"AHHHHHHH! AAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!"_

He yanked the piece of steel out of the limp hand and threw it towards the kitchen, and then half-stepped to push the man towards the loveseat. Grimmjow Jagerjaquez's body knocked the end table over.

He wanted The Espada down—to _stay_ down—but Pantara gripped the loveseat's arm and rose, ready to fight once more.

Mr. Hollow didn't move to stop him.

He didn't have to.

A white-gloved hand gripped light-blue strands of hair and the butt of a white katana handle connected with Pantera's temple. A Doc Marten kicked his knee joint, sending him falling forward. Sode no Shirayuki's blade came down once more, down the back of The Espada's shirt and across his hipbone. That small hand slammed his face into the carpet.

The Espada Pantera known as Grimmjow Jagerjaquez didn't move. The Red Rabbit unclenched her hand from the fist full of sky-blue hair.

…They'd only just begun.

* * *

"…You're going to tell us who else was there."

They were in the kitchen. Pantera's jacket had been removed and his wrists, arms, and ankles tied to a back of a chair; his sky-blue hair was wet and limp from the water that had been poured on him. Sky-blue contacts looked at The White Rabbit sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bruise on her face—that hadn't been her voice.

The Espada stared at him as if he could see the face behind the bone-white killer's mask. "…I thought you didn't speak."

"You're my exception."

…A hyena's barking laugh slipped from his lips. The sound slowly built and turned wild and gleefully half-crazed, but belied the desperate jerking The Espada did in his chair. His feet stamped and scraped against the floor.

_His eyes opened slowly, searching for a face through the pain. And he found himself staring back at a skeleton, black-robed and crowned with its empty eye sockets focused on him._

_Death._

_Death stayed and stared, but…the other people who had been there before…whoever had been holding the gun. He heard the footsteps move away…away to…_

_"She's knocked up."_

_"…What?" A voice as cool as silk with a smile spoke out._

_"She's fucking knocked up." More laughter. "Look at her. That pussy Yanki knocked her up." The laughter became hysterical. "She's got a fucking bun in the oven." _

_His wife's name was echoing in his mind. If only he could move…he wanted to move; he needed to get to her and the twins. He itched to move, but Death…that black-robed, king crowned bastard didn't move. ...And didn't allow him to move either._

_If anything, that skeleton…smiled, leaned in. Kept him clinging to life, knowing and enjoying that blood and pain blanketed every inch of him._

_"So, she's pregnant," a woman's voice spoke up. "…They're not going to make it. Look at her. We could leave her right now."_

_"…I want __no__ survivors." The silky voice said. "Be sure about it."_

_That black-robed, crowned king bastard's smile widened._

_The familiar sound, the sound of an unsheathed katana slicing through the air hit his ears._

_Ripped clothing._

_"Hold still."_

…_And then there was screaming. And his own darkness._

Mr. Hollow was choking on malice.

"You _are_ going to tell us who else was there." Mr. Hollow repeated.

"_Che._ …And why would I do that, prick?"

"Because you're going to die, but not before you tell me those names. And you're not the type that would sacrifice yourself to protect your comrades."

Pantera sneered and Mr. Hollow heard the sound of spit land on the floor. The saliva and blood was the size of 500 yen coin.

Honey-brown eyes full of deadly intent. Brass knuckles to face.

* * *

Mr. Hollow stopped fucking with Pantera's bad knee, but his leg stayed at that unnatural angle.

The name, the first of four, spilled from swollen, bleeding lips again.

"…El Murcielago… If you're going to kill anyone, do him next…I hate that emo poof…" His head slumped forward.

"Who else."

Silence.

"…He's not awake. You have to use the water again." The Red Rabbit's voice rang out.

Mr. Hollow grasped Pantera by his hair and lifted his bruised and swollen face. He grabbed a cup and poured the water over his head.

Pantera gasped and sputtered back to life.

"Even if you pass out, you're still going to tell me those names."

* * *

His leg was broken in two places now.

And Mr. Hollow's gloves were caked with a layer of blood and salt. He pulled out the gag.

"…The Shark works outside…don't know where…find The Chimera…"

"Who's 'The Chimera?'"

But he had passed out again.

* * *

"…Kitsune…"

"Good boy…" Mr. Hollow put the pot down back on the stove. "…And who's your leader."

Silence…nothing...and then:

"…Mister…Ci-cinco…"

Mr. Cinco. He remembered the name and the face, from a long time ago. "The fuck if it is."

That swollen face gave another grinning snarl. "Heh. Shows what the fuck you know. Why would a dying bastard lie."

There was movement in his peripheral: The Red Rabbit had moved for the first time in three hours. Her eyes found Mr. Hollow's and then stared at the prone, dying Espada.

…Whether it was the truth or a lie didn't matter: they had a name now. And if it turns out they needed the truth, they would get it.

She pulled her Sode no Shirayuki from its sheath.

Mr. Hollow pulled off his brass knuckles and unsheathed Zangetsu. The thin black blade of his katana ripped the front of his shirt. The opening of the fabric pulled off flecks of Grimmjow's cooked skin the size of quarters. The sound Pantera made was like a dying animal's. His foot lifted the front of the chair and tipped it back.

He watched The Red Rabbit walk forward and crouch down, her hand over his mouth and her sword pressing into his stomach.

"Hold. Still."

The screams of The Espada Pantera also known as Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez spilled out the cracks between the fingers of her white-gloved hand…

* * *

_"Pantera_

_"(Jaegerjaquez Grimmjow)"_

A name written with a black Sharpie marker struck out with red marker ink.

* * *

_Chapter 4, which should better known as "The death of The Espada Pantera also known as Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."_

_I hope that fight scene was good. I wanted it to be so visual and…organic. I didn't want Mr. Hollow and The Red Rabbit to win it automatically. I wanted to better show how they feed off each other. And I wanted them to be badass in their own ways, but I think I gave a bigger hat to Rukia, lol. However, I think Mr. Hollow standing in a kitchen with guns blazing, breaking bones, and torturing an Espada for information is pretty badass too. He'll get his chances._

_I tried to be authentic with the Japanese references: MOS Burger and the address. Let me know if that address was correct if you're familiar. It's Westernized and there weren't enough Google searches to make me feel confident about it._


	5. Chapter 5: The Bespectacled Man

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia AU Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 5: The Bespectacled Man

* * *

_The Espada, Killers of The Shinigami_

_A name, a comma, and a respective title. _

_In its most simplistic connotation, The Espada are killers. A group made up of a few men and one woman; individuals that carry guns and katana and deprive the lives of others for money._

_In its best denotation, name "The Espada" is just a tag—something used behind yet another name or alias: _

_"Pantera, also known as Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez"_

_"The Shark, Killer of The Red Rabbit"_

_"El Murcielago, The Heartless"_

_"Kitsune" _

_"The Espada" is the way for that group of killers to make themselves stand out amongst all the other two-bit killers and hitmen—a name tag for a killer's nickname. It makes it easier for people to know who they're giving their money to: the people who pretend that their lives are wholesome and good, the people who depend on others to continue doing the things that they do in the dark, or are so desperate for their problems to go away or have no one else to turn to that they would need a killer to do what they can't do themselves._

_And for the killer itself, it's a type of status symbol. For them, the addition of the tag "Espada" to the beginning of their moniker means a type of status, a type of justification for more money, a getaway vehicle, and the shipment of their weapon or more weapons for their job._

_And at its worse, it's a stolen idea, an imitation of something that existed and what was better than what is available now. __And "Killers of The Shinigami"—that's a taunt, a means of attempting to step over a superior class of killers. Because before groups like "The Espada" or "The Vizard" had offered others the chance to have a name, a comma, and a title to attach to their own moniker and make themselves known as a fearsome group and as business partners, there was already a group of deadly killers with the handle "Godless Death Incarnate."_

_"The Espada, Killers of The Shinigami" are now nothing more than a gathering of subordinates. A blockade that are worked and used to protect and line the pockets of someone else. Their leader who bares the all-important name: _

_"Mr. Cinco."_

_Mr. Cinco…Mr. Cinco…Mr. Cinco…Mr. Cinco…Mr. Cin—_

He watched the change in the young woman's expression, the telephone operator-slash-secretary that stood in front of him, paper cup of coffee and a disheveled pile of papers in her hand. The way her glossed, cotton-candy pink mouth parted, practically gaped, at his form standing over her; the way her eyes widened slightly. She wasn't a young woman, but rather a girl who showed her emotions freely and obviously, that much was clear. And the blush on her cheeks, the flushing of her skin.

It was the blush that…amused him the most, if only for the simple fact it affirmed his own self-vanity.

...It was a blush that told him that him that she was awestruck in his presence.

It was a blush that told him that him that she thought he was gentle.

It was a blush that told him that she was attracted to him, very much so. That his clothes and his demeanor, the few seconds he had shown this outline of a good person, appealed to her. Maybe he reminded her of a star in a television drama or a movie. A romantic movie.

It was a blush that told him he had nothing to worry about in carrying out the errand he was about to undertake on this morning. The black, thick-framed glasses he had put on were just a simple addition, but they seemed to fit him and the role he was playing perfectly.

He decided to cater to this young girl and whatever expectations or illusions and admiration she held for him.

He crouched down, deigning to get dirt on one of the legs of his tailored Armani dress pants, and picked up the papers she had spilled.

"Oh—I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She snapped out of her trance and fumbled for a moment, trying to figure out where to place her paper cup of tea before settling for the floor. Her hands swept up the papers that had fallen, the sheets getting scratched and dirty from the way they were unintentionally wiped over the deceptively glossy marble floor. "I wasn't looking where I was going and before I knew what was going on, I had already colli—"

"It's alright." His voice was a bit bewildered but calm and sweet, like honey. "I'm only sorry that I hadn't seen you sooner, and I'm going to be the reason that you spend so much," he rose from his haunches, "…time trying to straighten them again." He handed over the papers he'd gathered, the smile on his face apologetic.

She grabbed them as quickly as she could without snatching them from his grasp. The apples of her cheeks were still as pink as the roses on the dress shirt she wore. "It's okay. I know what order they're supposed to be…Thank you." The smile she gave in return was embarrassed.

"I'm wondering if you can help me…" He bent over slightly to wipe off his knee and his eyes flitted to the laminated badge on her shirt collar, the one that was placed right above her breasts and glistened in the florescent lights. "…Hinamori-chan."

Hinamori Momo, the emergency phoneline operator or secretary's face immediately began to show that she _was_ willing to help him, this version of himself as a handsome and kind-looking stranger. "…Yes…of course." He saw that even the spilled and disorganized stacks of papers with official documents and signatures or possibly the tiny headset back at her desk weren't quite as important for the moment.

It was amusing how easily she had been taken in.

Maybe he would come back...before coming inside, he had been thinking he needed to have someone planted in places like these...police stations...hospitals... Someone willing to tell him the things the people who worked here saw and knew and kept a secret from the public. It would certainly make his life easier from not having to deal with these…annoyances.

It was a thought that would have to be pursued later. "I'm looking for a medical examiner…uh," he fumbled in a way he thought his character would, "Unohana Retsu."

Her face showed the recognized the name. "…Unohana-sensei? Uh," The girl's head pivoted excitedly and her eyes floundered around the police station, trying to remember the last time she had seen the doctor he was looking for. "She's—"

"—Ah. You're still here." A voice deadpanned.

He and the girl stared at the person who had included himself in the conversation, finding themselves staring at a sergeant with a can of coffee in either hand.

He decided not to quickly change his persona, but slowly become more of a man who was tired and somber, if not sad outright. The smile he gave was small and strained, and somewhat embarrassed, the kind that spoke of a man who believed in being genial even when upset. "Yes, uh…"

"Hisagi," The man made his way closer to the two, fumbling with his cans of coffee and pulling open the buttons of his jacket. Everything about him spoke exhaustion, of a double shift and a night spent running around the prefecture in a squad car, trying to fight sleep for a little longer or have a moment's peace for a quick nap. "You met me and my partner Kira Izuru on the way inside."

"Yes, Hisagi-san. I seemed to have forgotten the directions you gave me..."

Hisagi nodded, familiar with the plight. "Oh. Okay. Unohana-sensei should be in her office or the examination room—they're right beside one another. …Go down that hallway," he pointed to a long, fluorescent-lit corridor that was just like the others with its eggshell white walls and panes of glass and thick, fake wooden door just behind him, "and make another right. When you get to the second hall, she'll be in the fifth room on the, uh, right. I don't remember the number."

"Ah! Okay. I won't forget this time. The fifth room. Arigato." He turned back to the emergency room nurse. "Hinamori-chan, arigato."

He walked away.

"Oi, Hinamori-chan. I guess your date with Kira didn't go very well. Two days later and you're already blushing at other guys."

"What? Hisagi! That-that's not true! I wasn't flirting!"

"I didn't say 'flirting' I said 'blushing.' …And why are you so noisy?

" 'Flirting' and 'blushing are almost the same thing! Don't say things like that about me, Hisagi!"

"It's like you're guilty."

"And I'm _not_ guilty!"

"Still so noisy…other people can hear you."

The exchange almost made him laugh, and he wanted to laugh. But this wasn't the time or the occasion for chuckles. He was a character: to pretend to be somber and saddened was key.

It would be better if he had someone on the inside for this.

* * *

Second hallway, fifth door on the left. Room 539.

_"Medical Examination Room_

"_Unohana Retsu, M.E./C."_

The Bespectacled Man knocked on the steel door.

A tall, buxom woman in her mid to late-thirties with a blonde, almost silver-looking pixie cut and surgeon's garb opened the door. Her eyes flitted to either side of the hallway before focusing on the man. "…Are you Yubari-san?"

He had half-expected to hear his real name leave the woman's lips. He shook the tall woman's hand. "Yes. Yes. …Yubari Akihiro."

"_D, Domo._ I am Kotestu Isane, Unohana-sensei's assistant."

_"Domo."_

Behind them, he heard a man's voice repeat the name in confirmation.

"Let him inside, Isane." A woman's voice rang out.

The Bespectacled Man walked into the dimly-lit examination room.

He stared beyond the tall woman at the low lights and the shale-colored tiled walls. There were six examination tables in all, three on either side, four of which had bodies covered with white sheets, but only one was surrounded by other people and had the sound of water coming from one of the long metal sink faucets behind the it. The Bespectacled man wandered to that spot where a tall, emaciated figure of the man stood on the side of the table, his trench coat in hand.

Ichimaru Gin, "Kitsune." "Gorou." He said lowly in greeting.

The slender man lifted his head and turned his way, his fox-like face showing no surprise, save his lifted eyebrows. "Akihiro…"

Gorou's dress shirt was disheveled and wrinkled, held the smell of cigarette smoke. Of course The Bespectacled Man disliked it. He disliked that Gin had decided to appear as a man who had spent a wild night and had returned home only to be suddenly called out again. He disliked that Gin hadn't taken the time to go home and shower and put on clean clothes like he had, to better hold the appearance he did, or at the very least, the more acceptable appearance of a businessman that had suddenly been called out of an important matter at work to come to the police station.

And he disliked the smell and the fact that everyone else around him in the room had become comfortable with the aroma—but no matter.

Another time.

"Yubari-san. Thank you for coming; you're just in time." A gentle-faced professional woman with a long braid turned from the sink to greet the newcomer.

He gave a quick, respectful bow. "You're Unohano-sensei."

"Correct." She pressed on a soap pump and began to sterilize her hands. She turned back to the two men, comfortable yet sharp in her element, used to handling somber guests and bad news. "Were you a neighbor of…?"

"No, no. I only met him sometimes when I accompanied Gorou."

"Yes, when I would visit the property from time to time."

Unohana-san nodded. "Please, Yubari-san, feel free to stand beside Saito-san. I will only be a few moments."

The Bespectacled Man followed instructions.

The woman pulled out a box and grabbed a pair of light blue latex gloves. Her footsteps approached the examination table. "...Isane will lift the cover whenever you're ready, Saito-san."

Gorou nodded towards the medical examiner's assistant. "Okay. …Please."

The Bespectacled Man was staring at the angular, cut, and bruised face of a man with sky-blue hair and smudged makeup around his eyes.

The fox-faced man drew in a shaky breath. "…Yes. That's him."

Unohana nodded. Walked a few steps to the counter adjacent to the door and returned with a clipboard and a thin stack of papers. " 'Jaegerjaq…ues Grimm…jow?'"

"Yes."

"Okay. Let me read this for further confirmation. 'Age thirty-four…Gender, male. Height, six-foot-one. Weight, one-hundred-seventy-six pounds. Birthday, July thirty-first. Eye color, black. Hair color, sky-blue. Blood type, O positive. Contacts, yes, sky-blue. Tattoos, yes.

"…There are several cuts and bruises along his body as well as trauma to the head and broken joints and ligaments—his right wrist, his leg left knee joint and shin. There are more, but I feel you would want to be spared of the details.

Gin nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "…I'm sorry, doctor, but…" He made a gesture with his hand.

Kotetsu complied and looked almost relieved that she was able to cover Grimmjow's face from the world once more.

"…Doctor," The Bespectacled Man spoke up, "I've been reading the news for awhile about a serial killer that attacks various places in Japan. Grimmjow was very strong, and I admit a bit short-tempered, but do you think he was a victim? The pattern—it _is _familiar to what I've read."

Unohana Retsu bowed her head and paused to think on her words. "I cannot say because the body was only recovered twenty-four hours ago…Nothing will be confirmed until the official autopsy comes out and when more details are revealed. I'm sorry, but I do not want to confirm something like that now."

"I understand."

The Bespectacled Man knew that the doctor had her own questions about Grimmjow, about what he did for work and his activities outside of work, where he frequented about, his…enemies. But she held her tongue.

"Isane is going to direct you to where you can make arrangements for the body upon the end of our examination and investigation. I'm not sure if that is something you want to do personally, but Grimmjow-san file doesn't include information on family members or emergency contacts…"

"Yes…yes. …Is it possible for us," Gorou turned to The Bespectacled Man, "to spend a few minutes alone? Here? With—"

"Of course. Come, Isane. Let's give the gentleman alone a few minutes."

_"...Hai."_

The two women left quietly with a click of the doorknob.

The two men waited for the clipboard to be arranged outside and for the women's footsteps to retreat.

Gin's thin lips stretched slowly across his face, the smile playful and childish. "…The police aren't going to find anything in the apartment."

"Nothing that would be of help to us, no." The Bespectacled Man said in a voice as smooth and cool as silk. He grabbed at the box of gloves and put two on, and pulled back the blanket once more, exposing what the tall assistant hadn't been instructed to show. He was interested in the condition of the dead man's body.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez had suffered a lot of violence that night, a lot wounds and swelling and burn marks in some places, but The Bespectacled Man was most interested in the slash across his abdomen. "…He'd taken a job that night, correct? One you didn't assign him."

"Yes."

"…Who was the…target?"

"I don't know, but I can ask around some."

He stared at the incision, the cut like a Cheshire Cat smile across his torso and deep enough to bleed out a person. "Do so. And find out who was the contractor. I would like to meet them."

Yes, he would like to meet them very much. His eyes closed, imagining the exact way Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez died. "The person who did this was very deliberate."

"…Yes…" Gin agreed.

"Grimmjow had been losing his touch. And his…cutting of stomachs was making him into a sort of…well, at best, he was a sort of one-trick pony. He failed to understand that because he was stubborn and never thought he'd be made an example of. But even if he was still as skilled as the day I found him…whoever did this was more skilled, if not skilled and talented. And brutal."

His head bowed and his eyes closed, thinking of how he had wanted to the very same thing to his Espada Pantera, on more than one occasion.

"Yup. They definitely caught him with his dick out…so to speak."

The Bespectacled Man ignored the crass statement, but he disapproved of the language.

His eyes opened to stare at the cut one last time and he saw something strange on the end. A mark of some kind…smudged; ink-based. Something…rudimentary…

A drawing.

A drawing of…

_"I want __no__ survivors. Be sure about it."_

_He was staring at the body of a man, broken, beaten and dying at the front door of his own home. A man who used to be a merciless killer, who still held that title. Someone who wore a mask and carried a sword that was more like a meat cleaver. _

_And his wife…another merciless killer, whose seemingly harmless moniker belied the fact that death in her hands was always sudden to arrive, but drawn out to the very end. And painful to the last breath. _

_When they had defected from The Shinigami, when they had suddenly just disappeared, he had thought that they had truly done what The Shogun had suspected: gone on together to establish an organization of their own. After all, they had had enough time to do so. And he was aware of the fact they had requested to work together pretty often. He had even thought he had heard their organization's flamboyant, rag-tag name a few times—"The Vizard." _

_But apparently that was not the case. After all, here they were with wedding bands on their fingers, dying on the floor of their own apartment in a meaningless existence—newlyweds, a 23-year-old man-child and a 26-year-old woman._

_It was a shame to see them like this. To see the boy named "Mr. Hollow" curled on the white carpet, mouth gaping like a fish, eyes wide but unfocused as if he was staring at another soul in the room. And to hear the young woman, "The Red Rabbit," scream as her pregnant stomach was being sliced open._

_He pulled out the pistol he had kept hidden in his breast pocket and a silencer from his Prada pants pocket. He twisted the silencer on and pulled the hammer. The muzzle aimed at the body of the man._

_One bullet to the hand. The left hand._

_One bullet to the arm. The left arm._

_One bullet to the shoulder. The left shoulder._

_One bullet to the leg. The left leg. _

_"ARRGGGHH!" Mr. Hollow's body jerked, flinched with those slugs in his skin, and his breath caught in his throat. "… ...AHH... …AHHHHHHHH!"_

_One bullet to the head._

_Five bullets in all. He had been taking up Spanish—"cinco," the number for five._

_And then silence. _

_He walked further into the room and stood over The Red Rabbit, but not to the point he dirtied his shoes with her blood; they were Louboutins after all. His head tilted in thought._

_...And poetry came from his mouth._

_"I did not do this because you wronged me…I did not do this because I'm sadistic…I did it because it's a means to an end."_

And now, more than a year later, in late February, the tiniest of smiles turned up the corners of his mouth, his first genuine smile.

Of _course_ Pantera had lost his life. There was no way that a man who had legally changed his birth name to "Jaegerjaquez Grimmjow" could have kept his life or understood how surely his death was guaranteed the moment he had attempted to cross swords with those two Shinigami.

"...Should we wait for the good doctor and her assistant to return?" Gin asked.

He pulled the blanket over the dead man once more. And he took off his gloves, throwing them in the trashcans for biohazards, where other blue latex gloves sat, ready to be forgotten. "…We've already fulfilled our objective in coming here. …Let them do what they want with Jaegerjaques Grimmjow."

* * *

_Okay. Chapter 5! The identity of "Mr. Cinco" should be pretty obvious, right? This chapter just seemed to be perfect to introduce him—it's the fifth chapter; his name is "Mr. Cinco;" the number 5 pops up a lot. _

_I really liked this chapter—it just seemed to natural to have some of the characters here—Momo, Hisagi, and Kira (unseen); Unohana and Isane; Gin. Aizen's character traits practically write themselves._

_R&R._


	6. Chapter 6: Mr Hollow & The Red Rabbit 2

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia AU Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 6: Mr. Hollow & The Red Rabbit (part 2)

* * *

_Of all the killers that made up The Shinigami—The Grinning Killer, The Sadist, __Marilyn, La Antílope, __and their leader, The Shogun—none had embodied their shared handle, "Godless Death Incarnate" more than Mr. Hollow and The Red Rabbit._

_Mr. Hollow, protégé of the man called The Princess' Bard. The Shinigami who carried a katana shaped like a butcher's knife and wore the mask of a killer, bone-white except for the two thick, black lines on either side of his face and a set of teeth bared in a perpetual growl. __And The Red Rabbit whose greatest skill was torture, in any style her clients wanted, from playful to drawn out, who wore pure white gloves and killed her targets in the dead of night with a pure white blade._

_He had once just been a seven year old who had come home early from school one rainy day to find that his family—his mother; his two baby sisters, toddlers; and his puppy Kon—had been killed and died in cold blood, save for his dad who stayed alive long enough to ask for a final request: his favorite suit jacket to face Death with. After that day, he became the foster child of the woman called Yoruichi Shihoin and the man Urahara Kisuke. It was Urahara Kisuke who learned the name of his family's killer and the one who had broke his own blood oath to teach his best friend's child everything he knew about killing a man. And at age 15, that young boy finally got his revenge against the man that had taken his family away, the assassin Grand Fisher with the butcher's knife of a sword he had made. He had worn a mask to let the bloated, diseased killer focus on the hollow, merciless look in his eyes as his life was taken away._

_And maybe around the same time that he lost his family, she had been nine, maybe ten, years old. Her parents had long since died in a car accident; her only other family member had been her beautiful, amazing older brother. Her nii-sama. She was the only one who survived a fire that had consumed their house one winter night—she was the only know who had seen the face of Nii-sama's killer, the man who had pretended to support his decision to play a bigger role in the company that was his birthright and then turned around and planned for his demise. She had clutched the last gift her brother ever gave her, a Chappy plushie, the day her life became the joint custody of her family's most trusted lawyers, the late Ukitake Jushiro and Kyoraku Shunsui. And she swore revenge. She'd spend the next six, seven years systematically killing the committee members and drawing pictures of a chibi rabbit in their spilled blood._

_The Shogun would think that their sudden defection meant the two Shinigami had decided to go out and start an organization of their own, that they had somehow been planning this affront to him and their former comrades. _

_But that would be a lie. _

_The truth would lie in events that took place almost three full years ago, before this entire story of blood and gore and the two former Shinigami's single-minded revenge against the Espada began. _

_On the night The Red Rabbit saved Mr. Hollow's life._

* * *

They had been tracking and killing members of a scamming operation called "Xcution" for almost six months. It was an assignment that had called for two people because it had too many variables—the target was a group that had enough people to pose a threat and mobilize against a single person; they had enough scams in different places, to the point that their headquarters was hard to track; they moved around constantly.

And two weeks from the night they had killed the last remaining Xcution members, The Shinigami that called himself "Mr. Hollow" and The Shinigami that called herself "The Red Rabbit" had had sex for the first time.

For Kuchiki Rukia, it seemed like the most natural and inevitable thing to do, the only light in the room being the streetlights that filtered through the crack of their hotel room curtains, and the sounds of the air conditioner turning on and off. She had been breaking every rule she had put into place with Mr. Hollow: rules to not talk about herself, to not go around wondering what was going on in his head. And the physical distance she had wanted to keep between them had already been crossed.

The man that wore a killer's mask, the man that called himself "Mr. Hollow."

Ichigo.

She was in the seat of his lap with her legs wrapped around him and her fingers fisting his spikey hair.

He stared at her with those eyes of his, dark brown in the darkness, before kissing her again. The first kiss had been gentle, maybe even unsure, but _this_ kiss had…momentum. It started off hungrily, with hot, heavy breaths that found their rhythm and tapered into slow intimacy, teasingly sucking on her bottom lip as his hand found its way underneath her t-shirt and brushed against her skin.

She was already panting for air, already wanted more kisses and less clothing between them. She lifted her arms and felt her shirt pass over her head. More of those slow kisses, and his fingertips between her breasts and down her stomach.

She moaned and squirmed, bucked against him, kissing the crook of his neck and pressing her breasts against his bare chest.

She could feel him between her legs. His fingers teasing her nipples.

"…Rukia…Rukia…"

She rubbed against him again, and felt him through the fabric of the pajama shorts she wore. "Ichigo," she whimpered.

He gripped her hips and put distance between them, enough of a distance so that he could stand, his palm finding its way under her shorts and pressing against her bum.

_In the dead of night, in a safe house away from the freezing rainwater falling outside, The Red Rabbit's work phone illuminated a two-word message:_

_"FUNDS TRANSFERRED"_

_Their first target, a woman who wore black men's boots with thick studs, was dead. And luckily, the client was satisfied with the picture she had sent. _

_She was cleared to go. _

…_Her amethyst-colored eyes, darkened to the point of looking black, looked over at the figure in the bed. _

_Mr. Hollow. Wounded but very much alive. And burning with fever._

_She was only supposed to have handled the exit, as per orders: keeping the engine warm; escaping the crime scene with the other Shinigami—she hadn't known __who__—in tow; reaching the drop point, wiping the car clean, and separating from her accomplice; and waiting for her funds to be received and clearance to leave. _

_But her stomach had sunk when she had heard the gunshots._

_She had taken a risk, stepped out the car with one of her Sode no Shirayuki in hand, and followed the sound to where it had originated, the freezing January rain dripping down her face and soaking through her clothes._

_And she had killed their first target, the adrenaline-fueled, blurry moments it had taken to cut off the arm that had clasped the butt of the gun the woman was using to beat her accomplice, and then slice her jugular. _

_She had half-dragged Mr. Hollow back to their getaway car, supporting his much taller, larger frame and his humongous sword on her back. Even with the rain pouring down and her senses on full alert for anyone else that had dared to be outside in this weather, she could still feel his warm skin against the crook of her neck. __It had taken much longer to get out of the crime scene and to her safe house; she hadn't abandoned or wiped down the car and had only a few hours until dawn to do so._

_Thunder rumbled outside the window, but neither of them stirred._

_He had a beaten face and a very swollen right eye that promised to become a huge shiner as it healed, but it was his mask that had saved it from becoming worse. _

_And he had a temperature that made his skin burn and his body shake and his breathing harsh. _

_Her eyes stared at Mr. Hollow's mask and the kanji written inside, the list of their targets. And then she stared at his swollen face and the sweat on his brow._

…_She couldn't leave without knowing that his fever was broken. _

_She needed to find extra blankets and pray that there was a convenience store open at this time._

Ichigo had physique, she knew that. He had to. To have strength to carry his sword, Zangetsu, let alone make it into an extension of his own body? He had to have endurance to keep standing, even when he didn't always walk away from fights entirely unscathed. He was hard to miss with that hair color, and admittedly his body was something she hadn't ignored when he wore the clothes he did. She especially couldn't now when he stood half-naked before her, the light glowing off his tattoo less body. His body, from the tips of his burnished orange hair to his toes, was impressive: his every toned muscle; the curve of his shoulder and bulge of his bicep; every keloid, salmon-colored scar…and the tent in his pants.

She couldn't help it; she smiled. He was…_pretty_ impressive.

And him being who he was—almost twenty-two, stubborn, serious—he scowled, quick to think that her smile meant something bad. "Oi. What're you laughing at?"

"I'm not laughing, baka. I'm just smiling—there's no law against smiling is there?" She leaned against the wall and stared up at him.

She couldn't be sure, but it looked like his cheeks had reddened a bit. "No, there's not."

"Okay then." She could have kept going, but decided not to. After all, she didn't want to tease him—not in this moment they were sharing, no matter how much she liked getting under his skin and challenging him and knowing he liked to get under hers and do the same.

Her hand grabbed the waistband of the drawstring pants he wore and began inching them off his hips slowly until gravity took care of the rest.

He wore Calvin Klein brand boxer briefs.

She pulled them down too.

And blushed.

Ichigo was naked and…very, _very_ impressive.

Her fingers gave a feather touch against his length before her hand wrapped around him. From base to tip, he felt warm and throbbing, her every touch making him harder. He closed the small gap between them, resting his forearms on the hotel room wall. His eyes slipped closed; his breathing became ragged.

She kept going. Her lips kissed his chest; her hands kept…exploring, from time to time brushing against the tuft of trimmed hair between his legs and sliding her finger against his tip. He was coating her fingers. She listened to him groan her name. Her eyes stared as his face gave into the pleasure she found herself really wanting to give him.

_They had been working together for almost four months. It had taken that long to find and kill another two members of Xcution. And during that time, she had realized too many things about the man who wore the Mr. Hollow mask._

_The most distinctive part of Mr. Hollow's presence, of that mask, wasn't the paint job or the teeth. It was the look of its wearer's eyes. __If Death had a look that could show every second of a person's life, from his or her birth, to every triumph and every failure and every regret, to the last moments of their final breath, the pair of honey-brown eyes that stared through that mask embodied it. There was no uncertainty in that gaze; no hesitation or qualms or regrets about what he was going to do._

_It made everything else about Mr. Hollow's skill terrifying. He was never secretive about his strength or attacks—he stood in places where he could be seen and fought in a manner that was straight-forward; he came close to the chest, and he rarely punched or attacked his target's stance; instead he choose to change which hand held his Zangetsu. He fought with a type of...honor it seemed like. It was...very honorable..._

_And…he complimented her style. _

_When she had to fight, she worked within a target's blind spot and would do moves that had them doing the things she wanted them to—backing into a corner, tripping and falling. She wasn't above cutting through the meat and muscle of a leg, breaking a joint, using something around her as a weapon in a fight. It was less about fighting honorably and more about being one step ahead to make her own advantages. _

_He understood that. _

_Or maybe, even without being told, she understood him well enough to know when to hang back or know that when that deadly glare of his softened, or when he suddenly sidestepped or bent his wrist and the edge of Zangetsu's blade tilted that he was doing that for her. Not because he thought she was incapable, but because he saw her as his equal. Strong enough to stand beside him, or worthy to have him stand beside her._

…_These were dangerous realizations…_

When he grabbed her hand and pulled her from the wall to lie on the queen-sized bed, she didn't resist. Her back rested against the soft, white covers and her hair splayed out around her. There was a tingle in her body of...anticipation...

Ichigo didn't waste time taking off the pair of yellow pajama shorts and Chappy underwear she wore and leaving her almost as naked as he was, the only exception being the socks she had worn. She felt his fingers trailing the back of her bare thighs and slowly moving in between.

Her darkened gaze watched as he parted her legs. The air conditioner had cut off for the moment, but she still felt the cool rush of air against her. Now he knew that their foreplay had left her wet, but minus a cocky smirk, he didn't say anything about it.

He slid one finger inside of her.

She gasped or maybe partly whimpered, moaned, and gasped. _Mewled._

And then added another digit, filling and dipping inside her, in and out again and again, making her _wetter_.

And all too soon, she was flying, her fingers clenching the bed sheets and her back arching.

He watched her as she gasped his name and her toes curled and her juices flowed.

And found her clit.

_A line, the last physical barrier she had tried to keep up between her and Ichigo had been crossed in the beginning of June. _

_Six months from the day she had saved his life, he had done the same for her._

_They had found the last of Xcution in an abandoned warehouse turned office-slash-lounge in Naruki City. _

_Among the last of the Xcution had been a girl that she had killed, a deadly dance that had ended with Sode no Shirayuki slicing across her mouth and then carving a mark down her front from her shoulder to the right side of her ribs that ended with her stabbing through the girl's lung. _

_It seemed the moment that girl's gun dropped, everything had changed and the fight had fallen out of her favor._

_She hadn't known that until she felt a blow to the back of her head sent her crashing to the floor on top of the still-warm corpse. A foot slammed into her ribs twice, sending her curling into the fetal position and struggling to pick herself up. _

_It was a man, someone the intel given six months ago hadn't included. Someone who used a sword, albeit a blade less visually intimidating than his comrade's. The only thing worse than his inclusion and the calm look in his eyes, was the fact he fought very similarly to her and that his stance kept her from the upper hand she needed. Her arm couldn't reach far enough to slap him like he had to her; he seemed to expect the things she did to evade him. His steps had been halted only because she had found a cup of scotch to throw in his face—and even that hadn't helped._

_She had seen an opportunity and sidestepped, her aim to do a quarter-turn and cut the back of his thigh or his ribs. _

_Only, before she had made it, she had felt the end of his blade cutting into her._

_She dropped Sode no Shirayuki before falling to the floor. She could feel her own sticky blood spreading across her back. She couldn't help touching it and feeling her blood stain her fingers. She didn't try to get up again even though she felt him right behind her._

_"RUKIA!"_

_She had no idea if she had wanted Ichigo to come save her, but before she knew it…he was by her side, shielding her body from her opponent. _

_It wasn't the fact that he had yelled her name, her real name, and had come to her aid…it wasn't __just__ the fact that he had overpowered and killed the man that had cut her. _

_It was the...__way...__he did it._

_The vehement, angry look in his eyes. The absolute rage that replaced the usually calm, deadly aura he emitted. The violent way that Zangetsu had been used to cut into the guy's stomach. His death had been guaranteed the moment Mr. Hol...Ichigo had stepped in, but the strikes he had made were more violent than she had thought they would be. _

_And…the worried look in his eyes as he stared down at her. She didn't know what she could say about it._

…_They needed to burn the building down._

Her legs were shaking, still riding the orgasm that had just flowed through her entire body. He had left her for the moment, but there was a quiet ripping sound in the room...a condom wrapper.

His footsteps brought her back to her and his hand burned its imprint on her thigh. "Are you okay?" He was half-teasing, half-worried for her.

She didn't want to open her eyes, but she did it because she knew it would make him feel better. "…Yeah."

He crawled over her and parted her legs once more, this time settling himself between her and rubbing against her core, making that thrill of anticipation stronger. His fingers brushed away strands of her hair.

"…Are you ready?" He asked.

She was.

She smiled.

He smiled too.

And she felt him make his way inside her…

_"It's not too bad, but I still need to close it." _

_The shochu he was making her drink wasn't helping her handle this conversation or numbing the pain like he said it was supposed to. She could still feel everything—the pull on her skin as he moved her ripped shirt away from the cut. And the sting from the rubbing alcohol he had poured on her wound. _

_Her body had jerked without her wanting to; she whimpered._

_The quiet sound of his blowing on the cut filled her ears._

_His palm touched her hip, his fingertips pressing into the curve of her back. Goosebumps prickled her skin, around the outline of his fingers. "…I haven't ever had to do this for another person, so you have to stay still," he murmured. "Get ready."_

_She had no idea how that could be possible. _

_The needle bit through her skin, and the thread followed. She clenched her teeth. _

_"Drink some of the booze, Rukia."_

_She did. Again. And again. And again. And again. One sip for every time the needle pierced her skin._

_"...I'm sorry. I saw you fighting with that guy and I was trying to make my way over to you…I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough."_

_She had expected him to tease her because of the way she was acting. She risked turning her head to look up and over at him. "Were you going to take the blow for me?"_

_He swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing with the effort. "No, I would have just…stopped him before he had done it."_

_"If you had done that, you wouldn't have been able to protect yourself and gotten the blow. I don't know how to sew stitches...So, maybe it's good that you're not hurt and I'm not hurt that badly."_

_His fingers curled around the waist of her pants and pulled them down slowly. More goosebumps on her exposed skin. The presence of his body so close to hers. A heat settled in her stomach._

_"I don't see it that way. I see it as me not being able to protect you from the blow in time."_

_And he didn't look over at her, but his brow furrowed a little, thoughts of being unable to do that very thing running through his mind. And she wasn't a mind reader, but she could just tell._

_She didn't say anything, but the words, 'I feel the same,' danced across her tongue._

_Suddenly he was too close, much too close. _

_But she didn't want him to leave. _

If she had been flying before, she was in orbit now. Her body was burning with the need to feel him more.

She whimpered, squirmed, her breasts bouncing with every move. The fire he was stirring inside her was growing with every stroke. "Ichigo…go deeper!" She mewled again.

Ichigo pushed deeper, his hands around the edge of headboard so tightly, it was possible that his knuckles had turned white. She groped for him—his hip, his shoulder. She didn't want him to stop. His thrusts were rough; somehow, even over the sounds of their skin slapping against each other, her moans, and the sounds of his exhaling her name in short, harsh breaths, she could hear the sounds of the bedsprings creaking.

"Ichi~go."

He let the headboard go, and used one of his hands to clasp both her wrists, pinning them above her head, changing the angle that he entered her, sweat pouring down his body.

The other found her clit again, pinching and rolling.

She clenched and quivered around him, giving up the fight to not go over the edge.

His thrusting grew more erratic.

And she felt another orgasm build its way up inside and her and through every inch of her.

_"Ichi~go!" _

It seemed her climaxing had allowed him to feel he could do the same. He grabbed her waist and moaned. Deeply, gutturally, in her ears until, at last, he fell beside her.

She felt a mix of emotions as he slipped out of her.

Their breathing took over all the other sounds of the room.

The air conditioner kicked in again and she could hear the machine churning cold air.

He held her close, pressing her sweaty body against his. And even though she didn't think she had wanted to be cuddled, she let him; it seemed almost strange that he wanted no distance between them. Her head rested on his chest and eventually, their heartbeats sounded like they were beating at the same pace.

Rukia felt...something...

This, what they had just finished doing, _had_ felt inevitable…and its aftermath, whatever they chose to do after this—that felt inevitable too. And...peaceful...

The way he laid down beside her, his arm around her felt like…he didn't want to be without her.

And the way she felt, tired yet needy and wanting of him…she knew she really felt the same.

* * *

_A/N: It's sooooo early. Excuse the half, coherent thoughts you might have to read. _

_...I wonder if the identities of the other Shinigami will be somewhat obvious. (Hint: Only La Antílope is an Arrancar.)_

_I really wanted to take a few steps to sort of cover how Ichigo and Rukia came to be. There was so much I wanted them to touch on, from their respective backstories to the sex; it was really hard to get the ball rolling. Every flashback seemed to have a presence in my mind and then I really wanted them to show every layer in their relationship—the physical intimacy as well as perspective on how they're each other's equal and stuff._

_Anyway—enjoy and R&R. _


	7. Chapter 7: The Lust

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia AU Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 7: The Lust (for Onna)

* * *

Mr. Hollow grabbed the back of the boy's head and slammed his face into the wall, the bloodstain of his new head wound imprinted on the stark-white surface. His body slumped down slowly, his knees giving way as they met the kitchen tiles, and he fell to his side.

The tip of Mr. Hollow's black-and-green Oxford shoe connected with the boy's chest to make him roll unto his back, and its red sole pinned him down.

The Red Rabbit watched as the tip of Zangetsu's blade pressed against the boy's jugular.

For a moment, two thoughts came to pass in her mind: the first being the final thoughts she had towards The Espada lying underneath Mr. Hollow's foot and katana.

"El Murcielago, The Heartless"

Said to be the most fearsome Espada of the trio, but not necessarily for his skill—although his skill was undeniably great, deadly, and precise.

It was his face.

He was apt to using pure white face paint, save for a thick black streak that came from his eyes and ran down to his chin. It was said that the face paint only augmented the worst aspect of El Murcielago's actual face: his eyes. For unlike Mr. Hollow's eyes that conveyed the promise of a multitude of terrible things, El Murcielago's wide, bright-green orbs spoke nothing less than…dispassion. For his target, for the things he did to them. He was solely focused on carrying out his job, the orders that came from his leader.

…She could see no marked difference when that face paint went away.

El Murcielago was young—a college student at best. His frame was small and thin, almost birdlike and almost too small for the clothes he wore to counter the August heat, the pair of sweatpants and his green t-shirt. And pale, maybe as pale as her, the only scars worth noting being the identical cuts that ran from his eyes and stopped just short of his cheekbones. And his eyes underneath the fringe of messy black hair were just as listless as they had been described to her.

And the second thought was a slight but sudden and acute wave of…nausea at the smells of the cooked food and blood mixing together. She felt a stirring deep inside her and her free hand pressed against her stomach the feeling of the lukewarm curry plastered to her shirt against her hand.

And that's when they all heard it:

House keys.

Purple eyes met honey-brown. It was the worst scenario for a killer: someone unexpected, a witness, or worse—an ally. But the fact that they had a key and took their time to open the door: someone important to El Murcielago lived here.

The door opened.

"What happened?!" A voice rang out into the apartment. Footsteps over broken glass and around overturned furniture. "Is anyone here...? ...Ulqui-kun?"

There was only one thing they could do.

The Red Rabbit turned her back from the scenario playing out behind her, and readied herself to lift her gun towards whoever it was that was walking through the apartment's living room.

It was a girl. Another college student, with long brown hair and a very generous chest and curvy body in a flower-printed dress that showed her long, bare legs.

…The Red Rabbit recognized this girl. Pictures with her face, her blissfully happy and smiling face, were hung on practically every wall in the apartment. Her and their target.

The girl gasped at the sight of her standing in the middle of the kitchen, her own harmless appearance, the striped shirt and curry-stained floral-print pants and flats, belied by the gun in her hand. Those gray eyes of hers searched around the decimated kitchen with its smashed plates and glass cups and hanging cabinet doors and puddles of water and the overturned pot of spilled curry on the stove. Those eyes of hers widened at the sight of Mr. Hollow's imposing figure and the shallow cut made across the back of his green plaid shirt…and El Murcielago's body pinned underneath his foot.

"W, Who are you?"

Neither spoke.

Mr. Hollow turned back to look at the girl. The scraps of sunlight that were left in the day casted his hair aglow.

"Who are you?!" She repeated. The girl made one step into the kitchen and The Red Rabbit raised her arm to greet her. An innocent, non-threatening young girl with her pictures on the walls or not, she wasn't taking any chances.

She stopped in her tracks. "Why are you here? What are you doing to Ulq—"

"Onna." El Murcielago spoke up for the first time since their intrusion. The Red Rabbit snuck a glance back at The Espada. His head was lifted ever so slightly, but his eyes looked…living now. Full of mixed emotions.

"It's okay…I'm okay. You have to listen to me. Follow my directions exactly. ...Do you have your bag with you?"

She began to nod until she realized that El Murcielago couldn't see. "Yes."

"…Take out your keys, your phone, and your iPod."

The girl obeyed, rifling through into her canvas bag and pulling out her cell phone and the small, orange colored listening device. The little earbuds of her headphones dangled from the cord wrapped around her fingers. Her entire body was shaking.

"…And then place your bags down."

The bags dropped to the tiled floor, the books inside making a heavy thud. The contents of the other bag from a local bakery spilled out, loaves of bread getting dirty.

"Now, sit at the kitchen table. Put your things on the placemat and then press your palms on the table. Whatever you do, don't move them."

The girl's eyes flitted to her right where the kitchen table and its chairs stood. And once again, she followed directions, choosing the tangerine-colored placemat that had been pinned under what may have been an overturned teddy bear-shaped cookie jar without its head. The jar rolled from side to side, causing her breath to hitch in fear of the consequences of this action. And she fought against the urge to look over at The Red Rabbit, and scrutinize her own harmless appearance and the contradiction of the gun in her gloved hand. Fear and a million and one questions weighed heavily on her mind.

There was a glassiness to her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"_Onna._ It will be okay. …I promise." His voice carried with it the edges of a smile, a reassuring one, one a person would give to their distraught lover.

Throughout their exchange, The Red Rabbit had deigned to speak, but now she turned back to The Espada that was making promises he wouldn't be able to keep.

"…Usagi-chan. I have two things to say…Mr. Cinco left Japan shortly after your attack against Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, and took Kitsune with him. Right now, I am the only one who would be able to tell you where he is."

There was no point in telling him that he_ would_ tell them where Mr. Cinco was; he didn't have a choice in the matter. "…And the other thing?" Her tone was icy and serious.

"…I apologize for my actions on that day."

She stared at the young boy lying prone on the floor with a raised eyebrow. "…Are you truly apologizing after this long?"

Mr. Hollow's hand gripped Zangetsu's hilt tightly.

His eyes slid from the brown, angry eyes that stared at him, to the petite woman that stood in the middle of the shambles of his kitchen. "…I've been told that it's never too late to apologize when you've done wrong to another person."

The girl's forehead furrowed and tears were beginning to fall from her eyes, but she didn't speak.

"…I…understand why you've killed Pantera and The Shark. And I understand why you seek me out...because I now understand what it means to…love someone. And to want to protect them…and forfeit and change aspects of your own life for them…And I accept the outcome because of it."

El Murcielago's glance trailed away from until he was looking up at the kitchen ceiling. "I offer my life to you and Mr. Hollow—"

"…What?"

"—in exchange that—"

"What! I don't understand! Ulqui-kun!"

"—you do not harm Onna after my death."

"Wait!" She turned her head and stared at The Red Rabbit's face. "_I don't understand!_ What did Ulqui-kun _do?!_ Why is he apologizing and then offering you his life?"

The Red Rabbit didn't speak.

"Why is he offering you his life?!" Her hands slammed on the table. "Ulqui-kun wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone! He's kind—he's _nice!_ He wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone!"

"Onna…that's not true. I told you when I first met you…I've done terrible things to other people. I've done terrible things to Usagi-chan and this man here."

He paused and then he said, calmly, even gently, "…I killed their children."

Mr. Hollow's eyes narrowed in the slits of his mask. El Murcielago's voice held no reproof and no guilt…

The gasp that expelled from the girl's mouth was almost inaudible. "B, but—"

"That was the bad thing I did, the thing I didn't want to tell you. …I killed their children and helped others kill them too. They've killed almost all those other people. And now it's my turn." There was that calm, even tone—acceptance at the events that would unfold in the next few minutes.

The Red Rabbit felt her stomach dip queasily at the thought and the smells of food and blood that hit her nose. "And willingly giving his life for that sin is the only option he has left." She thought back to a conversation that had taken place a while ago, when they had sought out The Pharaoh to help guide them towards the steps that would lead to this moment, the moment before the last moment. "For balance. Because we're not going anywhere until he's no longer living. He understands that…and now you do, too." Her free hand once again patted against her stomach, a particular soft, rotund part she didn't remember being there before…

The girl jolted—or rather, her hand jolted from its resting spot on the kitchen table, and shoved itself inside the hollow body of the stomach of the cookie jar. The Red Rabbit saw the weapon before it had been aimed at her: a tiny pistol.

"...What do you think you're doing?"

"You're not going to take him away from me."

"Give it up. We've explained why he's going to die. You now know everything there is to know about your Ulqui-kun. And you're going to try to stop us from killing him?"

The girl's hand shook, but that didn't stop her from lifting it higher slightly. Her other hand held the bottom of the handle carefully. "You're not taking him away from me…It, it doesn't matter what he did before. I told him that his past didn't matter and that I would help him make his future together. So, you're not going to take him away from me."

The Red Rabbit watched as Mr. Hollow moved away from El Murcielago, and aimed to place himself between her and the barrel of the girl's gun. The girl gave another gasp as the white edge of Zangetsu placed itself against her neck and she came face to face with its weilder.

"_You will get off her!"_

She felt movement come from her blind spot and remembered the kitchen drawers and the possible kinds of knives they held inside. Her body moved on autopilot, her leg lifting and her foot connecting with El Murcielago's jaw and the muzzle of her gun pressing into that unkempt, inky hair.

There came a quiet, yet steady sound of water…the girl peeing on herself. The Red Rabbit looked at the fear and tears in her eyes, the beads of sweat popping up on her forehead.

The gun that was clenched in her hand fell into the puddle on the floor. The safety hadn't even been taken off. The thump of Mr. Hollow kicking it away and the rattling sound of it sliding across the floor overtook the room.

"You're not going…you ca, can't take him away from me…you _can't_ because…I'm pregnant." The admission came with more tears and a dripping nose. "I'm pregnant with Ulqui-kun's baby!"

She felt the fight El Murcielago had had built up inside him give way instantly. "What?" The Espada's voice warbled.

"…I, I haven't been feeling well for…awhile. And all the food I eat was making me feel sicker sometimes. I can usually…just take something for, f-f-f-for the flu and feel better, but it wasn't working. And I was at work, but I asked my, my boss, Hikifune-san if I could leave early and go to the doctor.

"And then I went to the doctor and he said…I'm pregnant. I'm six weeks pregnant with Ulqui-kun's baby. It's his...So, you, you, you can't take him away from me."

No one spoke, but there was sobbing and the sounds of breathing. Breathing from El Murcielago, quick and breathy…breaths of panic, joy, and disbelief.

And her own breathing, almost constricting in her own chest. "...If you're pregnant and you're not lying about it, where's the paper?"

"…What paper?" El Murcielago's voice whispered.

"When a woman goes to the doctor and gets tested, the doctor gives her a paper telling her she's positive…and pregnant and when the baby might be coming. And that woman takes it to her husband so that he can see it and know that he's about to be a daddy. So where is your paper, Onna?"

"…My bag."

The Red Rabbit's eyes flashed over to the canvas bag lying on its side—just like how the girl had left it.

"…What we're going to do is…I will walk to your bag, find the paper and look for myself. If you're telling the truth, we will leave. But if you're lying or if you move or speak, Mr. Hollow will kill El Murcielago and we will decide what to do about you." She felt a movement under her gun and kicked the boy underneath her foot. "We _will_ decide what to do with her!

She looked over at her partner. "…You have to step away from her."

Mr. Hollow pulled back, slowly, Zangetsu's blade being the last thing he moved from the girl's neck. He walked back towards her, not hesitating to place the blade to El Murcielago's fair skin once more.

She walked back to the front door, her footsteps quiet across the floor, the smell of ammonia in her nose, her stomach threatening to betray her again. She kicked away the now inedible and slightly soggy loaves of bread.

The bag had no zippers or buttons to keep out intruders. Her hands began to pull things out: a small makeup kit; a pencil case; Tupperware, of some leftover meal—sweet potatoes and cheese with hot sauce; rice and red bean paste, and avocados with beans and pieces of sausage and chunks of mozzarella.

And then a textbook about graphic design. The only book with a sheet paper tucked between the front cover and the first paper to the tome.

She skimmed the paper, barely taking a moment to glance at the girl's name and other information about her.

…And there it was, on the last page:

_"PREGNANCY TEST / POSITIVE"_

She put the paper back inside the book and then the book inside the bag once more. And then she stood. Her eyes sought out Mr. Hollow's.

_She was sitting on the edge of their bathtub sink in her favorite towel, the mint-green one, and watching him. He was sitting beside her, on top of the cover to the toilet. "You're holding it wrong."_

_He looked away from reading the back of the box he was holding and looked up slightly, his scowl visible to her even with their height difference. "…How am I holding it wrong?"_

_"You're holding the side with the cap. You should hold the other side."_

_"It's not a big deal, Rukia."_

_"That's the side I peed on!"_

_He didn't answer, but moved his fingers to the other side of the stick—or rather, the pregnancy test._

_Her__ pregnancy test. _

_She was more than ten days behind on her period—the longest she thought she had ever been late. And for a few weeks now, she always seemed tired. It didn't matter that she slept soundly and solidly beside Ichigo. She had no idea how she wasn't getting caught closing her heavy eyelids at the receptionist's desk at work. She knew that Kirinji-san liked her well enough because she did good work managing every appointment and group that came to the bathhouse, and Kazuo and Kazuhiro were willing to cover for her, but still…_

_She never seemed to not be tired, to the point that she wished she could just leave work, or find one of the empty rooms and sleep for hours._

_And she had been throwing up all day._

…_Fatigue…nausea…_

_What else could it possibly be?_

_…__How long had they been waiting?_

_"The lines match…" he murmured. _

_She looked down at the stick in his hand. The smaller circle, the control circle, stood with its solitary vertical line that meant "positive." And the one beside her, the actual result…indeed had a matching line. _

_She had no idea that he was looking over at her. And she had had no idea that she had been rubbing the ever-softening mound of flesh that was her stomach. _

_Her eyes looked up to see Ichigo standing. The pregnancy test and the box it came in sat at the top of the toilet. It was only when she looked at the slight crease in his brow that she realized she had the same expression on her own face. _

_"What's wrong."_

_"Nothing's wrong."_

_"Rukia, something's wrong…are you not happy?"_

…_It wasn't that she wasn't happy…_

_"Do you think the test is wrong?"_

_No…they had done everything right with the directions…they had even waited for the results longer than they had to. And she was sure that that was what it was—pregnancy, a baby growing inside of her. All that was left was for Ise-dono to confirm the news, and he had already made an appointment at the doctor's on her behalf to do just that._

_"Are you scared?"_

_She __was__ scared. They weren't safe yet. Throwing away their phones and leaving Zangetsu and her Sode no Shirayuki behind with someone else, the man called The Princess' Bard. The jobs they had to cover their modest lifestyle, the things they had done enough to pay for this life for a lifetime, for the space they rented…the names they had taken—"Sasaki Jiro" and "Sasaki Yuki" …All of that didn't guarantee that they were safe…_

_If they were missed or had been found out, The Shogun…the other Shinigami…they could find them. _

_Ichigo's hand touched her thigh and moved underneath her towel. "…I'm scared."_

_Her brow furrowed more. "…How can you be scared and you're moving your hand there? This is why I just peed on a stick." _

_The smirk on his face was faint. _

_"It's not funny, Ichigo." But she couldn't help but smirk too. _

_The upward curve of the corners of his mouth went away. "…Do you not want one yet?" He looked up at her. "Maybe it's too soon…" He was aware of the risks having a baby meant, the period of time when traveling—possibly escaping—could be and would be dangerous…_

_But she looked at him and into those eyes of his she was helplessly drawn to. She couldn't help it—she imagined a life they would lead nine months from now and for the rest of their lives, a life with a baby…maybe a boy…she liked the idea of a boy and the idea of him growing into a man…with eyes like Ichigo's… _

_Just like Ichigo's…_

_"I want a baby." She murmured. "Let's have a baby."_

_Her heart melted when he smiled at her._

_"Thank you."_

_And he kissed her, sweet and tender. _

"…Tell us where we can find Mr. Cinco."

He did.

"…When we walk out that door…do not seek us out and forget that we were here. Do not call the police. And if you haven't already, don't go back to Mr. Cinco. You're not allowed anymore because the…the only way the person you'll bring into the world will have a good life is if you leave the bad things behind."

"I already know that."

Mr. Hollow's hand enclosed hers, the band of his wedding ring catching her eye.

"If we hear you've done any of these things, we will come back and we'll make sure to square the debt you have with us…Congratulations."

* * *

_A/N: Chapter 7. Me shipping UlquHime is almost as natural as shipping IchiRuki—"almost" being the keyword (I love IchiRuki and need no other pairing in the manga). And while I've been writing this fanfic, I've been rereading __BLEACH__, and just came to realize how much I like Ulquorria and the dynamic between him and Orihime. It was to the point that I just couldn't kill them off. I tried—I thought of maybe 2 scenarios of him and Orihime dying but those didn't feel right. And this one came and I just…let the chapter write itself._

…_Kinda wrong I made Orihime pee herself when Mr. Hollow almost kills her, but Orihime being frightened of Ichigo in his mask is canon so…eh._


	8. Chapter 8: The Twins

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia AU Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 8: The Twins

* * *

_They hadn't been married an entire year before the twins. Maybe…ten months, tops. _

_A while, maybe two months after they first had sex, in September, Ichigo had proposed. It wasn't overtly romantic because he wasn't that way, but there was something he had said, something that she remembered even now:_

"I don't think I can keep up with it. …The speed of the world without you in it…"

_She had already accepted that she was in love with Ichigo and trusted him with her very life and felt the same way whenever they parted. And because it was like...she had to try harder to blend in with the rest of the world, like __sometimes __it was moving faster than her and she was just…struggling to catch up—not keep up or surpass it, but __catch up__—she agreed._

_The very next morning, they went to find their wedding rings, two matching gold bands for their left ring fingers. _

_The day after that, he rented a suit, a white one, and bought a brown dress shirt and tan-colored tie. And she rented a furisode, one that somehow reminded her of the exact color of Nii-sama eyes, indigo, with black butterflies on the hem and sleeves. They married at the courthouse. The judge that married them, Osha-dono, called them out as being a "very handsome couple," a compliment not given to the five couples that had come before them. There were times tears filled her eyes, but she remembered Ichigo wiped them away for her._

_The day she met the man Ichigo called "Hat and Clogs," he had argued that their union meant that they should not be killers any longer—for their own sakes:_

"Before, you killed indiscriminately—you killed another person's husband or father, or another person's wife or mother. But now you _are_ a husband and have a very beautiful wife, Ichigo. Which means that you'll be able to have a sort of empathy for those people you may never had before. …If you continue to do what you've always done, you may now know how that pain can leave a hole in your heart…"

_He was the one that took Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki away from them for safe keeping and gave them the papers and identification that made them "Sasaki Jiro" and "Sasaki Yuki." _

_They had made a life together pretending that they hadn't been killers and amassed enough money to live life more than comfortably._

_They lived in a simple, two-bedroom apartment. He worked at a dojo owned by a very hairy man named Komaura Sajin, and taught beginner and intermediate classes there. She worked as a receptionist at a bathhouse spa owned by a man named Kirinji Tenjiro. They had amassed friends, Asano and Kojima; Ichigo joked that she had a fanclub amongst the little boys in the neighborhood because she was about as tall as them, and she joked that even though he was a strawberry head, the little girls had crushes on him as well. They had spent their first New Year with one another and went to temple together. They bought groceries and paid bills and made bento boxes and fought and made up; he let her put her sketches on their refrigerator door even though he said he couldn't tell what was going on in them; she listened to him read Shakespeare aloud; they celebrated her birthday, and he bought her a Chappy plushie. They made love, quickies and sex that lasted until early in the morning on weekends. They became good at blending in._

_And then July came._

_Rukia was sure she had determined the night they had made the twins. July 7, The Tanabata Festival. That night fit them the best—two lovers who met and knew they were destined to be together. Plus sometime in the midst of the festivities, the bottle of Yebisu she had been drinking had led her to tell him she wasn't wearing anything under the white yukata she wore. Their lovemaking seemed to start the moment they came home; before she had even closed the door, his hands were already around the red sash around her waist. The orgasms their hands, mouths, and bodies passionately coaxed from one another seemed to be something more—like…spiritual. She had no idea how they had managed to reach their bedroom, but that night had reached its end with her on top and her knees feeling the first sharp pains of rug burn, to her somehow changing positions with him on top and deep inside her and her legs wrapped around his waist. _

The colors that had been behind her closed eyelids had stopped swirling and bubbling and…exploding.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and let the world come back into view slowly.

And found herself staring up at him. Her husband.

The man she truly, unquestionably loved.

From the way his hair seemed to glow brighter, dawn was near. The Tanabata was over; the night they had spent was ending.

She lifted herself up and kissed him.

He was really…beautiful… She never admitted that she thought that often: when she woke up and he was still sleeping; when he read a part of a play or a sonnet aloud; sometimes she thought it when he was walking ahead of her and the only thing she could see was his back.

And, of course, right now in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

He was smiling down at her, a pretty tired yet satisfied smile.

And for a moment, she thought about how she couldn't be without him.

"I love you," she murmured.

His smile widened.

Her legs crossed at the ankles and she kept him inside her for just a little while longer…

_Soon after that and days of feeling more tired and hungry than normal and just…weird, she would pee on a "Check One" pregnancy test. _

_And it would come out positive._

_They had gone to the doctor's appointment he had made for her, expecting to hear about the first steps in the baby's development. _

"Ah~_ha_." Ise-dono said.

Rukia was seven weeks along and up until that moment, had been assured by her doctor that things were good. Maybe it was because of the sound itself and that she could tell Ichigo was still nervous, but she had felt like maybe she should be a little nervous as well. She had only been to see this gynecologist once last year, and she remembered that while the raven-haired, bespectacled doctor was kind enough, she had never really come off as being too…excitable.

"Ah, Sasaki-chan, I apologize. I don't mean to worry you. Everything is still fine, everything is still coming along nicely. It's just," she slid the probe across her stomach more, that cold goopy stuff spreading over her skin. "Here is what will be baby number one," the ultrasound slid over the developing fetus, which looked more like a bean at seven weeks, "and over here…is baby number two."

"Baby number _two_?" Rukia felt Ichigo's hand clench around hers, the news equally as shocking to him as it was to her.

"Yes, it seems that you are going to have twins!'"

She wasn't sure if it had been Ichigo that turned to her first or vice versa, but…the moment of surprise she had seen in his expression faded into a small smile.

And Rukia hadn't been able to help herself; she smiled too.

Twins…

_From that day in August when she knew that she was positive to New Year's Day—that was less than six months._

_She had insisted on buying and reading baby books. The hours she used to spend sketching, when she wasn't sleeping, she read up on changing her diet, ways to get exercise, and the changes she was supposed to be expecting with her body. She endured morning sickness and food cravings throughout the day and sore feet and her heightened ability to smell everything and her ever-tightening clothes. Just about everything made her misty-eyed or pissed; she worried that she was going to end up looking like a blimp. _

_And he made sure to stand beside her every step of the way. He arrived home to wake her up in the evenings and rose with her whenever nausea struck early in the morning or when she wanted something that she had just admitted she didn't want in the house—a burger; hotdogs; Meiji brand chocolate; and her favorites, peaches and strawberries. They went on walks around the neighborhood park together on the days when it wasn't storming outside. He promised that he liked her hair short._

_They talked about what having babies meant, if they were really as ready as they thought they were. _

_He was confident that in spite of the things they had done, they could raise two babies and protect them and teach them to grow into good people._

_And she trusted in him and his words. After all, the twins hadn't done anything to anyone; they were good. Better than them even._

_The twins became twelve weeks old. Her stomach began to show. __She and Ichigo finally agreed to tell Urahara and Yoruichi and their friends and her co-workers, and she became showered with praise and tips and even some gifts—baby clothes mostly._

_By the time the sixteenth week came and went in early November, they were fully formed babies. __In Rukia's mind, they became just as much a real person as anyone else walking on the street. It was hard not to—her books told her that their reflexes were developing and they had eyelids and intestines. They could start to see their fingers and toes in the ultrasound pictures._

_She felt them kick for the first time at eighteen weeks. The experience made her feel so maternal; she and Ichigo formed a habit of touching her stomach at certain points of the day. She reached the chapter on baby names in one of the baby books, and her thoughts turned to what they would be called when they first met them face-to-face. Sometimes she dreamt about them, strange dreams of watching them riding giant koi fish and playing tag in the sky… _

They had just finished making love. She was at the edge of their bed, curled in the fetal position and propped over a bunch of pillows; he was resting on the floor, his body still slick with sweat. His hand was lazily tracing circles on her stomach. The "Left Twin" was moving. They always did that whenever Ichigo was near, but the Left Twin sometimes seemed to be a bit more forceful; no doubt it took after Ichigo. It just made her want to know their gender more. She was sure they were going to be identical, but she was curious to know if their kicking meant that they were going to be boys and spend their days playing outside with their dad, or if they were girls and just already knew that their dad was going to protect them always.

…She chuckled.

He looked over at her with a smirk on his face. His fingertips trailed down the curve of her hip and she felt tingles. "What's so funny?"

"I was thinking about you just now, but instead of calling you 'Ichigo' in my head, I thought of you as 'Dad.'"

He smiled. "…Thank you."

"…What?"

"Thank you."

She did her best to prop herself up. "For what exactly?"

"For them. And being their mother."

"Are you being soft and cuddly?"

"Yeah, I am...That's not a problem, is it?"

"No...I like you that way sometimes." Her finger played with tips of his hair.

"...I love you, Rukia." His hand rubbed the curve of her stomach.

"...I love you too, Ichigo."

_The twenty-third week was the week New Year's Day had fallen on the calendar. _

_And New Year's Day was the day they lost the twins._

_No._

_No.__ It was the day the twins had been taken away from them. _

_Even though it had been raining, she had wanted to go out to a nearby temple. She wanted to make sure they started off the new year right praying for the babies' health. They had a little more than three months left. _

_The moment she heard the first gunshot, she had thought it was The Shinigami because in her mind, the rest of The Shinigami were the only people that would put in the time and effort to find them._

_Which is why the appearance of the three unknown killers in her home had scared her shitless._

_The last thing she remembered doing with speed was picking up the phone and dialing the first number that came to mind. It had been a draw between emergency services and Shihoin-san, and she was more than convinced she might know the outcome. _

_...The attack...It was like seeing the world crumble underwater. Watching Ichigo fight and fall underfoot of the one killer with blue hair was like seeing a nightmare in slow motion. She knew he had hesitated for her and the twins' sake, but when he had finally fallen, broken and battered, she knew it was over. _

_But she hadn't __felt__ her hope fade until she felt the woman's fist connect with her stomach. Hard._

_Her knees became weak and she fell to the floor._

_And then she felt the toe of a boot._

Her heightened sense of smell meant that her nose was filling with the smell of her own blood. The thick, heavy blood running down her legs. The smell choked her, made her tremble and ache. More than the bruises on her face; more than her broken fingers and ribs; more than the throbbing pain she felt from when she had fallen and her head connected with the side of the kitchen counter.

She thought about crawling away, but her body felt so heavy…and a tiny voice reminded her that there was nowhere she could run.

The smell threatened to smother and drown her, to take her body down to Death's threshold in Hell.

But then she smelled something different altogether.

Dog shit.

Her body shifted outside of its own accord, going from the fetal position to on her back. Her right eye, the better of the two, cracked open.

She was staring at the bottom of a woman's boot and a glob of dog shit smeared along the corner of its toe.

But right above it, crowning above that shoe was that woman's face…her forehead, rather. Dark blonde hair. And turquoise eyes.

And then she saw the man again, the one with sky blue hair. He was smiling like something was funny.

His finger practically jabbed into her stomach, sending...pain through every inch of her body. "She's knocked up."

"…What?" It was the voice of a man, one that was soft and maybe, somehow…familiar?

"She's fucking knocked up." She could hear the laughter in the man's voice and then she could hear his laughter for real. It was like an animal's laughter…some type of animal from somewhere. "Look at her. That pussy Yanki knocked her up." She watched him try to hide the feral, triumphant grin on his face with his hand.

"So, she's pregnant." The woman's voice again. "They're not going to make it. We could leave her right now."

They waited with baited breath, for direction, their eyes focused on her broken body.

"…I want _no_ survivors. Be sure about it."

The blue-haired man lifted his hand towards the woman. They had a silent conversation, one that ended with her withdrawing a sword and placing the handle in his hand.

His smile widened.

She heard her kimono being cut open. Thoughts of how long she had waited to put on the pretty purple kimono and the obi sash with the cherry blossom print fleeted from her mind.

And then she felt the blade on her skin, itching to open her up in the worst of ways.

"Hold still." His smile was so wide, it looked like it could have wrapped around his head.

…The scream that came from her lips didn't even sound like hers. And all the knowledge she gleamed about the twenty-third week, about how their fingerprints and footprints were beginning to form, seemed to not matter anymore.

_There was nothing left to the world._

"…I did not do this because you wronged me…I did not do this because I'm sadistic…I did it because it's a means to an end…"

_She thought that when she woke up eight months later, and the tears ran down her face and her fingers traced the scar left behind, the only clue that she had been carrying two lives inside of her._

"Rukia-chan."

She was looking into the gray eyes of the man called..."Hat and Clogs" whose expression was like a father bearing the loss of his child than a master worrying about his pupil.

"…Ichigo is alive. He's…he is in a coma like you were, but…he is alive…"

The pain was still acute, but hearing his name. Ichigo's name.

She felt her lips stretch into a smile before she could stop herself …

* * *

_...If there was nothing left to the world, she had Ichigo. And if she had Ichigo, they could start again…she could be happy again. _

_Even if she was carrying a hole in her heart..._

* * *

She had barely made it inside the bathroom before making quick work of her hands: turning the light on; lifting up the toilet seat; and grabbing either side of the bowl.

She hadn't eaten a lot, but it seemed her stomach was bound and determined to empty all of its contents: the chilled tofu; the orange juice.

She pulled away from the bowl and stood, stumbling to the bathroom sink and opening the tap. The floodgates opened and water rushed out; she lapped at it, gargling the taste of food and bile out of her mouth. She straightened up.

Ichigo was staring at her reflection in the mirror. His mouth was set in a frown. "…This is the third time since yesterday," he murmured, his tone toeing the line between accusatory and…something else.

Her brow furrowed. He was being overprotective. "…Maybe I'm sick. A stomach bug."

He shook his head. "You've been walking around; you're not acting sick all the time."

She turned to him. "Then what do you think it is?"

"…When was your period?"

She didn't have to see herself in the mirror to see the expression of shock on her face. What he was implying...that was crazy...She had had her period last month…and she was supposed to have it—

She almost fell to the floor in surprise.

It had already passed.

Rukia's period took place for the bare minimum a period lasted, three days. And those three days she was supposed to have her period had…already passed?

She was late. Later than she had ever been in her entire life—save for one other time.

Her hand pressed against her stomach without her meaning to…just like when she felt like the smells of El Murcielago's home were assaulting her nose. And that girl, "Onna," announced that she was pregnant…

They had started having sex again sometime between Grimmjow's death and when they had left for Mexico to find The Shark…and the last time they had had sex was two weeks ago. On the anniversary—the day they had been in that gynecologist's office and she had learned that she was having twins. They had both wanted to forget how sad they were, how much the day felt like a burden on their shoulders, so they did what they always did: they sought each other out and did things that lovers did. They let their lovemaking and passion serve as their way of escaping all those feelings and a renewal their promise to each other to take down their enemies.

But now?

"Rukia, you have to take a pregnancy test."

Her head was shaking before she gave him her one-word answer: "No."

"No? Rukia—"

Her body stiffened with tension; she wasn't above fighting for this. "_No._ Because I know what you'll tell me if...it's true." She couldn't even say it. "You'll tell me we're not going to leave."

"That's _not_ what I would say."

"Then you'd say that you're going by yourself."

She practically hit the nail on the head; he didn't say anything. "If you're pregnant and you get hurt…"

"Ichigo, you're _not_ going by yourself; you don't get to make that kind of decision. It's not just Mr. Cinco that's there—you don't know how many other people are waiting for us."

"I've fought a lot of people on my own once before. I'm still standing. I can always find my way back to you."

"Ichigo…We've killed too many people just to get to him. And he's _ready_ for us; he has to be. It'd be better if we were both there to fight him."

Silence.

She looked down, staring at their feet. "…If you didn't make it—"

"I'll be fine."

...Maybe she _was..._pregnant because she rarely thought about those last moments before she had heard Mr. Cinco's gun and Ichigo's screams. Thoughts about a world in which Ichigo didn't exist were even rarer. She didn't let herself think about it or cry because of it.

But she could feel the tears gathering in her eyes.

She shook her head, not wanting to hear what in her mind was the possibility of a false promise. "_No._ If you _don't_ make it, he'll just come after me alone…and _if_ I am pregnant, I won't be able to go anywhere without him following me. …Ichigo...I, I can't be pregnant again and alone. And I know that you'd try to come back to me and I should trust you when you say you will, but...I couldn't..."

He stepped to her, brushing away the stray strand of hair to see her face clearly. There were heavy creases in his forehead; he didn't like seeing her cry almost as she much she hated doing it.

"We've come this far. For them and...us. We need to do this; we're in this together. ...If I don't take the test, then we can't say I'm pregnant for sure. So, I'm going."

He didn't speak for a long time, but he didn't need to tell her that she had won the argument and he wasn't happy about it. "You have to promise me that you'll be safe." He practically whispered the request in the quiet of the space.

She looked up at him, at the unhappiness that was on his face. It was so different from when he smiled or even got mad at her.

But she wasn't going to go back on her word because of it. "I will. And you promise that you'll be safe and you'll protect you and me."

"…I promise."

"I promise, too."

* * *

_A/N: R&R. _


	9. Chapter 9: The Pseudo-Emperor

_The look he gave her was almost the same one he gave her on their wedding day._

_There was determination, an understanding of what this day meant. Ferocity, a shining in those brown orbs that had nothing to do with the sunlight filtering inside their hotel room. And love. For her._

_And traces of fear. For her._

_If her expression was a reflection of his, she both loved and hated knowing that that was what she looked like. They had no idea what the next few hours would bring, but it almost didn't seem right that this was the grim expression they were facing it with._

_In the quiet of early morning, they kissed, slow and lingering. Her fingers traced over the contours of his cheeks and buried themselves in his burnished orange hair. And his palms rested on her thighs as he deepened the kiss, suckling and pulling on her bottom lip._

_It was like the first time they had ever kissed._

_…She still hadn't taken a pregnancy test._

_And in this moment, as she felt his hand against the fabric of her black shirt, wrinkling the print of the golden skull on the front, she remembered that if she was pregnant, she was six weeks along; the life growing inside of her was small, but forming its face, its nose, and mouth and ears._

_Their kiss ended._

_He stood, strong and serious. Deadly. She watched him grab his former butcher knife of a sword. And his killer's mask._

_And she watched Ichigo turn into Mr. Hollow for what would be the last time, regardless of if they won. Or lost. _

* * *

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia AU Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Chapter 9:

The Pseudo-Emperor.

* * *

Germany.

That was where El Murcielago had told them where Mr. Cinco could be found.

Schorfheide. A city located in the countryside about an hour outside of Berlin.

"The Vandenreich." The pure-white manor, framed by rolling gray clouds of an oncoming storm. Where Mr. Cinco laid his head and hid from them, apparently fortified with the mercenaries-for-hire. She half-expected figures to have their guns trained on them, but apart from still figures and presumably, loathing stares, their guns stood at their side.

And then she understood why.

Standing at the front of the manor's doors was a thin figure dressed in a white robe. She didn't trust the long sleeves that hid his hands, or the expression on his face, the semi-closed eyes and serpentine grin.

Kitsune. _Fox._ ...It was fitting...

Mr. Hollow didn't waste any time. He unsheathed Zangetsu and showed his might and intention to the next and last Espada to die.

Kitsune was unfazed. "Ya~re, ya~re…how serious you two are." His hand lifted and his long, thin fingers to rake through the tendrils of his silvery hair. His right arm lifted and his sleeve pulled back, just for a second, long enough to see the hilt of his own sword. A taunt, a declaration. He cocked his head towards Mr. Hollow. "…Are y'gunna kill me where I'm standin'?"

Her hand gripped the hilts of her right Sode no Shirayuki from where they hung from either side on her belt loop. She hesitated to unsheathe the left as well. Something about him, his presence, she didn't trust, but her blood wasn't boiling yet. "…Not yet, no."

His grin widened; clearly he thought they were joking. "Well, he's expectin' ya. So, if y'gunna kill me, d'you think y'can hold on 'til we've reached Mr. Cinco?"

...They could.

He turned and guided them inside the manor, the hem of his hakama kimono trailing behind him.

The manor was immaculate, with high arches and grand chandeliers spaced evenly from one another. Still-life paints of fruit and flowers lined the hallway. There were no pictures. Their footsteps sounded heavy, purposeful, in comparison to their tour guide.

And then suddenly, they were standing in front of white wooden doors.

"Right this way."

He led them into a drawing room with lavender-gray walls and white trim and moldings. Her eyes swept the room, already seeing it for its potential and forming strategies in her head—the fireplace, the placement of the chairs and arrangement of low-lit lamps—before settling on the small table located in the very center. A tea set was placed out, a plain white ceramic teapot and small porcelain plates of finger foods, cups, and bowls of fruits and sugar cubes. Her nose filled with the sharp smell of jasmine...jasmine tea.

And there, placed behind a bouquet of short-stemmed white roses and sipping from one of the teacups, sat Mr. Cinco, the same as always, dressed in an all-white robe that covered his shihakusho of the same color, with black trim and a primrose obi sash.

Her blood boiled.

Kitsune walked inside, his footsteps quiet against the hardwood floor.

They followed, her footsteps ending where Kitsune wouldn't easily see her.

The man called Mr. Cinco looked up from his teacup, and smirked. "Mr. Hollow…The Red Rabbit."

Her eyes focused on the reclining man. "Mr. Cinco."

His smirk widened. "You calling me that is very…nostalgic, Usagi-chan. But, then again, I've always believed this meeting would bring up...those kinds of feelings." His tone was even, calm.

"…You're free to sit." He lifted his hand to the two empty chairs across the table from him, ever the gentleman.

"We'll stand."

Kitsune's hands had made a small movement; she was reminded of his blade.

"Ah, yes…after all, you're here to kill me. It would be strange to break bread with a man you want to kill, yes? But," he leaned forward and continued making his tea, choosing a packet from one of the porcelain plates and steeping it inside the hot liquid, "I've just figured after this time…you would have questions for me…and I could also ask you a question…"

The Red Rabbit watched as Kitsune's left hand slid into his right sleeve where his blade lied in wait. She readied her stance.

"…But if you would like to 'cut to the chase' as it were." His eyes slid to where his subordinate stood. "Gin."

The Red Rabbit leapt towards the fox-faced man, pulling out her pure-white wakizashi and making her move. Her left Sode no Shirayuki cut into his robe, exposing the skin of his arm; the other swiped across his cheek. She expected one of two moves: a step to the left to inch away from her attack, or the draw of his weapon. Either way, she sidestepped to his left away from that right sleeve and cut into his robe again, sliding her already bloodied blade up his thigh. Her body crouched, ready to lunge forward into view and play it from close range and cut off his arm.

She saw Mr. Cinco's teatime table fall out the corner of her eye, sending the spread to the floor, and Mr. Hollow's figure darting to the far left.

The sound of a gunshot echoed in her ears.

Her body caught itself in a moment of panic, her mind focused on Mr. Hollow. If he was safe, if he had been shot, if he was de—

Another gunshot. And another. And another. And another.

Five gunshots from a gun in Mr. Cinco's unwavering hand…a .44 magnum pointed at...

She was staring at Kitsune. His eyes, what she now knew was a pearly light blue, were wide open in shock. A sliver of blood ran from the bullet hole in the center of his forehead. The way his body crumpled to the ground and he fell on his side…it was the way an animal died, but he didn't remind her of a fox anymore.

He was like a snake. A dead snake…with the gray matter of his brain plastered on the wall behind him.

The Red Rabbit pulled her away from the gaping hole in the back of Kitsune's head. The smells of jasmine tea, blood, and excrement filled her nose. If she had eaten anything that morning, her stomach would've betrayed her trust and emptied itself on the white Indian rug underfoot. She swallowed down the bile that burned her esophagus.

Mr. Cinco's brown eyes met purple orbs. "I hope you don't feel as strongly about being…targeted anymore."

She drew in a deep breath, in disbelief about the string of words that came from his mouth. _"…What?"_

He pulled his arm back. "…As you well witnessed, I exhibit no qualms against shooting any of my subordinates...although I've learned to shoot twice when it's through the head," his eyes slid to meet Mr. Hollow's honey-brown orbs.

"You shot him to show that it's nothing personal?"

"If you would prefer to think of it that way…He wouldn't have lasted against you in any case. So maybe my killing him was…merciful in a way."

Her gaze hardened in silent disagreement. "What's wrong with you?"

His grin faded, but only slightly. "…There is nothing quote, unquote 'wrong' with me. Have you, in spite all you've done against me, forgotten your nature as well as my own? I am a killer and a leader of other killers. ...If that man," he pointed at Kitsune's corpse, "had ever raised his sword against me, he would have done so for the same reason. And in the event he ever killed me, I can assure you it would be to express his nature as being stronger than mine.

"But he wouldn't have succeeded. After all, he was only a contractor."

She scoffed. That's funny coming from you…Did you forget _you_ were a contractor? For The Shinigami?" The words were hard and biting towards the man that stood across from her.

Their former comrade.

The Shinigami's former contractor.

The man that had given them the assignment against Xcution.

The man responsible for bringing them, Mr. Hollow and The Red Rabbit, together.

"Of course not, but I aspired to be more."

Mr. Hollow's gaze narrowed.

"Is that why you did all of this?"

"No. It's _how_ I was able to do all of this...The Shogun always knew of my power and always tried to keep his thumb under me. But, of course, he was just as unprepared as the rest of The Shinigami."

_The man Mr. Cinco of The Shinigami was staring at an old man. The Shogun. _

_Bearded. _

_Wrinkled. _

_Bleeding. _

_Dying. _

_"You should know by now that it's over for The Shinigami." His finger tapped against the manila folder that he had placed on the wood-lacquered table. "They're all there. All of them." He opened the folder of his developed photographs and watched the man's eyes widen in horror at the sight of his assassins, the slash marks and bullet holes that riddled their bodies. But he especially liked it when the old man came upon the picture of The Centaur. "Tell me you aren't expressing sadness for her especially?" He waved the photograph of the girl's bloodied face being held up by the strands of her sea-green hair, a gash across the front of her face._

_"…She," his breathing was harsh, made harsher still by the oxygen mask that sat askew on his face and the cut across his chest, "was, a __child__!"_

_Somewhere behind him, Pantera went against his word for silence; his Espada's chuckle slipped into the atmosphere. "Not with that body." He could practically see the grin on his face, the telltale sign of satisfaction at that particular kill. _

_"She was a killer. And a contradiction—they all were. The Shinigami are called 'Deathless God Incarnate.' They under an ideal—__your__ ideal—that justifies the age-old saying 'an eye for an eye.' If a man rapes another man's daughter and is set free, he can be killed for a price; if a mistress wants her lover's family killed, it will happen for a price; if a politician wants to make a threat against an opponent or that opponent's family, it can be done for a price. The Shinigami eradicate them all, all these bad people…while they themselves are full of bad people._

_"The Grinning Killer, who did his work without mercy or discrimination; The Sadist, who was just that, who did unholy things with his own daughter…or would you rather I showed you the picture? I'm sure even Marilyn received her name for her handling of particular circumstances…_

_"You're old; it is hard to know everything that goes on around you, but I imagine that even you had some knowledge of these things." His eyes slid to the man they had killed when they first walked in, the silver-gray haired man that had dared to defend his employer. _"…_Bad people who killed other bad people. A contradiction."_

_The old man coughed and tiny flecks of blood fell unto his long white beard. "Is __that__ why, you, did this?"_

_"Do you mean to ask if I killed them from a religious standpoint?" He chuckled. "No. I don't pretend to care about religion or endeavor to correct your hypocrisy. I do this because I know the nature of killers. I am a leader of killers. I do not hide behind a false belief that they should simply do bad things as retribution for good people. I believe that they should be true to their nature. For when they embrace that nature, they can truly carry out their ordained purpose._

_"Which comes us to you, Shogun-dono. In order for my ideology to reign true, the ideology that exists must be eradicated by the root. So like The Shinigami have met their end, yours must be met as well. This is goodbye."_

_"You, bastard, CHILD!" The Shogun bellowed through a series of raspy breaths, "YOU THINK YOU CAN, END MY LIFE AS I STAND?! YOU THINK, KAMI-SAMA WILL, NOT, REPAY THE WRONG YOU'VE DONE TO, TO, MY COMRADES?! WHEN I AM BURIED IN THE COLD GROUND, AND MY, MY…my…SPIRIT IS BLESSED BY INAZAMI-GO-KAMI HERSELF, I WILL h-h-HAUNT YOU UNTIL YOU, __DIE__ LIKE THE BASTARD YOU ARE! Ai..aiZEN SOSUKE!"_

_"That is perfectly fine, Yamamoto-sama." __Mr. Cinco stood, picking himself from off the tatami mat and straightening himself up. He could kill and shoot this man—five holes placed in the most vital spots of the body were all he needed—but what would be the point of that. _

_A ruler had others do his job. _

_"…Pantera, Murcielago…please __make sure to be thorough." _

_Mr. Cinco of The Espada exited the room with the sounds of his killer Pantera's laughter in his ears and the smell of gasoline filling his nostrils._

"What does that have to with us?!" The Red Rabbit screamed at the still reclining man. "We _left_ The Shinig—"

"You defected, yes, but that didn't stop me from trying to find you. Or you from being Shinigami. That didn't stop you from being killers. And you're good killers, both of you. You're the best of all The Shinigami: flawless, deadly, merciless, committed.

"I…entertained the idea of inviting you into The Espada. I had sent El Murcielago to find you. To eradicate whatever faction The Shogun and the rest believed you had created. But then he came and told me you were pregnant, and that the way you looked, you could have given birth at any moment."

She gripped her Sode no Shirayuki so tightly, had it not been for her gloves, her fingernails would have dug into her palm.

"…You would have refused my offer. So I decided you were no longer any use to me."

There were a number of words she wanted to say to this man, their former comrade, the one that had ruined their world they had made for themselves. Who had given the word to have their children taken away, and now sat in front of her with a smile on his face.

The expression of the masked man that stood across from her, black sword in hand and deadly gaze, stopped her.

There was no need for words.

Mr. Cinco stood.

He pushed back the flap of his jacket to reveal his sword and pushed at his already slicked-back hair. "The Shogun knew I was skilled with a katana…and now, you will learn as well. …Meet my own katana, Kyoka Suigetsu." He began to unsheathe his blade.

Maybe she blinked the moment Mr. Hollow stepped forward, because their initial clash around the chair ended with Zangetsu pierced through the back of its cushion and the sword's intended target unharmed. Mr. Cinco pushed the chair towards the masked man, throwing him off balance and sending him crashing to the ground; it was only luck that Mr. Hollow quickly freed Zangetsu and Mr. Cinco's own sword missed him.

Mr. Hollow pushed the chair to the side, further upsetting the food and overturned cups that lay on the floor.

The Red Rabbit made her first move in the fight, jumping over the chair coming towards her and faking a swing on his left with Sode no Shirayuki. She came down on the right, meeting her steel with his. He swiped around her blade and pushed forward for a stab that was stopped by her left Sode no Shirayuki. The tip of his sword became embedded into the unprotected area on the floor. In a split-second decision to avoid any bits of wood that could be sent flying towards her face, she decided to side-step, swinging her leg out and connect the tip of her steel-toed shoe with his ribs, but he matched her move and his longer leg proved to have the most force behind it. The force of it connecting with her own ribs sent her stumbling forward towards the floor.

They paused for a moment, the sounds of thunder and the first pattering sound of rainfall against The Vandenreich Manor's windows. The Red Rabbit slowly, unsteadily, brought herself to her feet, breathing in as much air as her lungs could handle.

…Her arm came across the front of her body. Protectively. The imprint of Mr. Cinco's foot throbbed against her skin, but maybe for the first time that day in weeks, she allowed herself to think about the possible life inside of her…and she was happy that it was safe.

Combined, they had made maybe three or four moves against Mr. Cinco and he hadn't retaliated, only evaded. And he hadn't even broken a sweat.

Then again, neither had they.

…They knew it wasn't going to be easy.

Mr. Cinco stepped forward, quickly.

And Mr. Hollow rushed forward again, his swipe coming across what would have been Mr. Cinco's left shoulder to his right side, but he was overzealous. Mr. Cinco stepped on Zangetsu, embedding the black sword into the rug. His fist connected with the side of Mr. Hollow's masked face. Twice. Three times. And again, until he knocked the man off his feet. As Mr. Hollow's crashed to the floor, his hand freed itself from Zangetsu's hilt, leaving him exposed to retaliation.

She saw Mr. Cinco's Kyoka Suigetsu make a swipe across the front of Mr. Hollow's suit. And the way he curled into himself, there was no way he hadn't been cu—

But then suddenly, she saw Mr. Hollow's hand lash out, grab the shard of a cup, and smash it against the side of Mr. Cinco's face.

The man stumbled, clutching the side of his face, digging the glass from his cheek.

The Red Rabbit rushed the distance towards him to pick up the slack, slicing her wakizashi down his face, leaving a gash across from his hairline towards his brow line, barely missing the opportunity to gouge his eye.

And as he swung back at her in retaliation, Zangetsu swiped across the underside of his forearm, ripping open the sleeve of his suit jacket.

For the second time, the fight between the three former Shinigami was cast in intermission. Mr. Cinco stumbled. His sleeve began to stain a faint, but unmistakable red.

Lightening crashed outside. The rain fell outside in sheets, a sudden monsoon.

Mr. Cinco's left eye shifted from side to side, to compensate for its blood-soaked twin.

Mr. Hollow held Zangetsu close to his body. The Red Rabbit had no idea if the cut that had been made was shallow, or if it was as serious as the mark he had made across Mr. Cinco's own body.

And she stood. Bruised, tired...ready to lunge forward and end the life her last enemy, her only enemy left.

It was possible that this would be last strike made from either side.

Their swords rose slightly.

And Mr. Cinco rushed forward towards Mr. Hollow, the tip of his Kyoka Siguetsu dragging along the rug. The Red Rabbit saw it move in a sweeping arch across the right and strike across the front of that bone-white killer's mask. Mr. Hollow stumbled to move out of range, but then pressed his hand against the floor and pushed forward, determined to meet Mr. Cinco's strike.

Mr. Cinco stepped further and made his strike. The Red Rabbit rushed forward, expecting his blade to come down across Mr. Hollow's collarbone.

Which is why she felt panic when Kyoka Suigetsu's hilt struck Mr. Hollow's temple and sent him crumpling to the floor.

The man's deadly, calculating gaze turned towards her.

Her right Sode no Shirayuki swung down, intent on coming across his front.

But her attack was halted at his left hand grabbing at her wrist and twisting it around.

Her grip weakened. Her sword fell out of her hand, clattering to the floor. She fell to one knee.

The hilt of his katana connected with her head.

She fell to the floor.

His foot stepped on her left hand.

She screamed each time his foot stamped against her fingers. Every blow her fist made against his leg had no effect on him. He was that determined.

Purple eyes met the glint of her enemy's katana as it swung down towards her.

Mr. Hollow's balled right fist connected with the side of Mr. Cinco's face, and his left hand embraced the man's sword at the blade.

Mr. Cinco stumbled back and Mr. Hollow pushed through, his grip so tight, she saw the first slivers of blood trickle down. The masked killer's hand opened the lapels of Mr. Cinco's jacket, rustling around and producing a gun. The .44 magnum he had used against Kitsune.

A six-chambered magnum, with only one gun left in its chamber.

She watched as the battle dwindled to its most base form and denigrated into a deadly game of wills, a tug of war with the gun as the rope as its muzzle teetered back and forth between them and their finger grasped at the trigger: Mr. Hollow intent on ending the fight in their favor; Mr. Cinco determined to reign victorious.

She could feel her heart palpitating and her stomach grabbing at the fleshiest part of her stomach. Her body stood as stock still as it could, ready to spring into a run if it came to that.

And then she decided she couldn't wait anymore. She made a scramble to grab the Sode no Shirayuki closest to her, gripping its handle and brining herself to her feet.

And that's when she heard the _pop_ of a bullet, the last bullet in the .44 leaving its chamber.


	10. Last Chapter

**Best Served Cold**

Three years after standing on the threshold of death, two killers emerge to finish what they didn't start. IchigoxRukia AU Inspired by Goku's Daughter's "I love" series.

Rated M

Disclaimer: all characters belong to Tite Kubo

* * *

Last Chapter

Heaven's Chain

* * *

In a hotel suite bathroom far, far away from The Vandenreich Manor and Schorfheide and the rain, she was willing herself not to cry.

She was bruised. Her body ached with its pains and grievances.

She was gripping a pregnancy test for dear life and staring at the two thin, matching blue lines.

It was undeniable.

She was pregnant. Six weeks pregnant.

Purple eyes looked up into a curious pair of honey-brown.

"Let me see."

She handed over the pregnancy test. Part of her wanted to laugh as he made a conscious effort to not touch the side she peed on. And when she saw his eyes soften, she wanted to cry again.

_That sound, that deafening sound of a contained thunderstorm seemed to echo for an eternity in her head, over and over and over again. _

_With her eyes wide in horror, The Red Rabbit watched as the struggle between the two men ended. Neither of the them moved, their bodies frozen in a time exclusive to them. Their expressions mirrored one another's: shocked, surprised…a glassy, distant look their eyes._

_The .44 fell to the carpeted floor._

_And Mr. Cinco's body followed, falling listlessly on its side and relieving itself on that formerly pristine carpet._

_Mr. Hollow's own staggering footsteps ended with a crash as well. _

"…_Rukia…" _

_Like a moth to a flame, she ran to him. _

_If Mr. Hollow was dead…if Ichigo was dead, she was supposed to be running. Away from The Vandenreich, from Germnay. To continue, her life, a future without him…_

_If she was pregnant…_

…_if she was pregnant…_

_A possible future flashed by her eyes. A life that would have to guarantee safety, isolation for two people…a life that would revolve around a child. A child that would grow up looking and acting like a father it would never know. _

_His hands and the crisp white dress shirt he wore…they were so…__red__, but she had never feared blood before and she wasn't going to start now. Her fingers ripped the material open, pawing his skin for the bullet hole._

_His bullet-wounded left hand, now with a gash across his palm, reached for the side of his mask, practically ripping it off his face to breathe. His inhales were shaky but greedy for air. _

_She…she couldn't find anything. _

_Ichigo was…he was safe._

_He was alive._

_And Mr. Cinco. Dead. Never to return. _

…_There was nothing wrong in making sure. _

_She stood and grabbed Zangetsu by its handle, and walked over to the corpse that now stared at her with dead brown eyes. Her hand grasped at the tendrils of his dull brown hair and tilted his head back, exposing the skin of his neck. And with one swipe, she had turned Mr. Cinco into a PEZ dispenser. Blood sprayed across the front of her shirt and her face. _

_And with another swipe, she was holding Mr. Cinco's head in her hand. "Let's go…"_

_She felt Ichigo's hand, his good one, envelop hers. "Okay." _

_Their footsteps never sounded louder or more triumphant against the marble floors of that corridor. The breeze that greeted them as they walked out The Vandenreich's doors never felt more welcoming. _

_With her arm held high, she showed all who could witness the death of the pseudo-emperor, the man known as Mr. Cinco. _

_The rain had never ever in her entire life felt so comforting. _

He buried his fingers in her hair, bringing her closer to him and planting a soft kiss on her forehead. "We're going to have a baby." He murmured with traces of a smile.

"We're going to have a baby." She repeated, feeling tears slip from the corners of her eyes.

They were going to have a baby. And it was going to be able to grow up safe and happy and a good person.

"…I want a girl."

She looked up at him and saw that he was serious. "…I want a boy."

"If we have a boy, he'll probably end up acting like me with my mom. I didn't like being away from her."

She smiled. "…We'll see what happens."

* * *

_Nine months later._

She wasn't sure if the pain of childbirth was worse than the pain of death.

But as the late afternoon sun made its way across their hospital room and she felt beads of sweat roll down her neck and back, she decided it was pretty close.

She screamed, something shrill and unholy.

She didn't think she could last another second of this.

"Your cervix has dilated to about ten centimeters. And everything has been a success up until now." Her doctor, Senjumaru Shutara-sama, was a beautiful woman who seemed to never break a sweat and believed that being calm during dilation was a professional courtesy. But Rukia was relieved that she was now willing to set that aside in the last few moments of labor. "All you have to do now is keep pushing, so when you're told to push, you push."

She nodded, squeezing her eyes tight and pushing.

"—Push!" Ichigo's husky voice filled her ears.

The force she exerted was enough to make her grit her teeth. Her hand gripped the closest thing in her grasp: Ichigo's hand.

He fed her the same amount of force, to say that she was okay, that he was here, and their baby would be here. "Push! Push!"

Nine months had passed like a dream. It had come with a townhouse, something big and close by to a university with three rooms and a backyard and a park that was nearby and perfect for the evenings they had spent walking around until she had become too big. And it came with other, more familiar things…changes that were like ones from a lifetime ago: cravings for cucumbers and shaved ice and rice dumplings; mood swings that vacillated between absolute joy to absolute sadness to absolute fear; movement from the life growing inside her; and another series of dreams, dreams of a clear, snowy mountainside and dreams of them, her and Ichigo, standing hand in hand on the top of a skyscraper that overlooked other skyscrapers that surrounded them under a beautiful, clear sky.

Nine months had passed like a dream and they were ready.

"The head is crowing!"

His face broke out into a smile.

She pushed again and gave another scream that cut itself off as through her lips.

He grasped her arm again. "Just a few more! You can do it…just one more!"

That final scream was exhausting, strength draining.

But that's when she heard it: the cry of a child.

Their child.

She stared as at the baby Senjumaru-sama walked over with a blue blanket, exhausted to her very core, but didn't hesitate to cradle the life in her arms. Their baby boy. He was so beautiful, so peaceful. Ten fingers, ten toes. The hair on his head was thick and black and wavy at the edges, his eyelashes long as well. She was already in love with him, the way he slept and his chest rose and fell; the swell of his puffy cheeks.

Ichigo reached out to touch him, his fingers gently tracing the curve of his cheek. He smiled when the baby stirred. "Tensa," He murmured quietly.

She looked over at him, and then at their newborn.

_Tensa_, "heavenly chain."

Kurosaki Tensa.

She liked it. "Tensa."

Ichigo reached out to hold him and Rukia let him, watching as the baby settled on the bicep of his arm. Tensa stirred, his little fingers opening and closing, and then slowly, his eyes opened.

Brown eyes, just like his daddy.

This would be their new chapter.

A new chapter. Their best chapter.

* * *

_You know, there's a meme about Tensa Zangetsu I saw while writing this out: he's basically what Ichigo and Rukia's child would look like. I agree. I can totally see that. _

_And with this chapter "Best Served Cold" is at its end. I hope the ending for Chapter 9 was good. I wanted it to be as exciting as their fight with Grimmjow, but I like the Grimmjow fight better. (Ain't nothing like a fight between Ichigo and Grimmjow Jagerjaquez, lol, but at least Aizen's dead.)_

_ Overall, I'm very happy with this fanfic. I wanted an IchiRuki fanfic under my belt and that's what I put out, and it was quick and sharp and full of action. I liked it and with this and "The LOVE that Bleached FIRE and ICE," I'm quite satisfied with my fanfic obsession with __Bleach__. _

_Thank you so much to everyone that supported it: lovemydogs82; Crystalline Arch; Insanity-Plus—you guys were into it from the beginning. Thank you so much! _

_Tell your friends about it. If you've got a Tumblr, link it, hahaha!_

_xo,_

_the-lionness _


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